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THE  CHARTREUSE  OF   PARMA 


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LIFE  OF   STENDHAL 


Marie  Henri  Beyle,  who  called  himself  Stendhal, 
zvas  born  at  Grenoble  on  the  23d  of  January,  1783.  His 
father,  Joseph  Cherubin  Beyle,  was  a  lawyer  and  a  member 
of  the  parliament  of  Dauphine.  His  childhood  and  boyhood, 
excited  by  echoes  of  the  Revolution,  but  repressed  in  the 
bosom  of  a  royalist  and  conservative  family,  were  turbulent 
and  distressing;  in  later  years  Grenoble  zvas  to  him  "like 
the  recollection  of  an  abominable  indigestion."  He  escaped 
from  it  in  1799,  and  spent  a  short  time  in  the  War  Office  in 
Paris.  In  1800  he  went  off  to  the  wars,  saw  Italy  for  the 
first  time,  was  present  at  the  battle  of  Marengo,  and  fought 
his  first  duel  at  Milan.  From  1801  to  1806  Beyle  was  in 
Paris  and  Grenoble,  much  occupied  with  affairs  of  the  heart. 
In  the  latter  year  he  entered  Napoleon's  army,  and  remained 
in  it  until  after  the  retreat  from  Moscow  m  1814.  He  was 
made  "  intendant  militaire,"  and  his  zeal  commended  him 
to  the  Emperor.  On  one  occasion,  called  upon  to  raise  five 
million  francs  from  a  German  state,  Beyle  produced  seven 
millions.  He  seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  few  officers  who 
kept  their  heads  in  the  flood  of  disaster;  during  the  retreat 
from  Russia  he  was  always  clean-shaved  and  perfectly 
dressed.  But  the  fatigues  of  1814  shattered  his  health,  and 
the  ruin  of  Napoleon  his  hopes;  he  was  obliged  to  with- 
draw to  Coma  to  recover  his  composure.  He  refused  an 
administrative  post  in  Paris  under  the  new  government,  and 
settled  definitely  at  Milan.  His  career  of  violent  action  had 
exhausted  his  spirits;  he  now  adopted  the  mode  of  life  of 
a  dilettante.  He  gave  himself  up  to  music,  books,  and  love. 
His  first  work,  the  "Letters  Written  from  Vienna,"  appeared 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

in  1814;  this  essay,  a  musical  criticism,  was  followed  in  181^ 
by  the  "  History  of  Italian  Painting,"  and  "  Rome,  Naples, 
and  Florence."  He  became  poor,  and  in  1821,  being  sus- 
pected of  Italianism,  was  expelled  from  Milan  by  the  Aus- 
trian police;  he  took  refuge  in  Paris.  Stendhal's  essay  on 
"  Love,"  the  earliest  of  his  really  remarkable  books,  was  pub- 
lished in  1822,  but  attracted  no  attention  whatever;  in  eleven 
years  only  seventeen  copies  of  it  were  sold.  His  first  novel, 
"Armance,"  belongs  to  182/.  In  i8jo  he  was  appointed  con- 
sul at  Trieste,  and  while  he  was  there  the  great  novel,  "  Le 
Rouge  et  le  Noir,"  appeared  in  Paris  without  attracting  any 
attention.  Stendhal  was  so  miserable  at  Trieste  that  he  con- 
trived to  exchange  his  consulate  for  that  of  Civita  Vecchia, 
which  he  held  until  he  died.  In  spite  of  the  complete  and 
astonishing  failures  of  each  of  his  successive  books,  he  con- 
tinued to  add  to  their  number.  He  had  but  "  one  hundred 
readers"  in  all  Europe,  but  these  he  continued  to  address. 
In  18 j8  he  published  a  mystification,  the  supposed  "  Memoirs 
in  France"  of  a  commercial  traveller.  Stendhal  did  not 
taste  literary  success  in  any  degree  whatever  until,  in  183^, 
and  at  the  age  of  fifty-six,  he  produced  "  La  Chartreuse  de 
Parme."  This  novel  gave  him  fame,  but  he  did  not  long 
enjoy  it.  On  the  23d  of  March,  1842,  having  reached 
his  sixtieth  year,  he  died  in  Paris,  after  a  stroke  of  paraly- 
sis. He  lies  buried  at  Montmartre,  under  the  epitaph,  in 
Italian,  which  he  had  written  for  the  purpose:  "Here 
lies  Arrigo  Beyle,  the  Milanese.  Lived,  Wrote,  Died." 
The  life  of  Stendhal  was  obscure  and  isolated  through- 
out; but  since  his  death  he  has  excited  boundless  curios- 
ity, and  his  influence  has  been  steadily  advancing.  He 
said  of  himself  that  he  could  afford  to  wait,  that  he  would 
certainly  be  appreciated  in  1880.  He  proved  himself  a  true 
prophet,  for  it  was  just  forty  years  after  his  death  that  his 
reputation  reached  its  highest  pinnacle,  and  that,  with  the 
discovery  of  his  Correspondence,  Stendhal  entered  into  his 
glory.  E.  G. 

yi 


AUTHOR'S   INTRODUCTION 


This  novel  was  written  in  the  year  1830,  in  a  place 
some  three  hundred  leagues  from  Paris.  Many  years  be- 
fore that,  when  our  armies  were  pouring  across  Europe, 
I  chanced  to  be  billeted  in  the  house  of  a  canon.  It  was 
at  Padua — a  fortunate  city,  where,  as  in  Venice,  men's 
pleasure  is  their  chief  business,  and  leaves  them  little 
time  for  anger  with  their  neighbours.  My  stay  was  of 
some  duration,  and  a  friendship  sprang  up  between  the 
canon  and  myself. 

Passing  through  Padua  again,  in  1830,  I  hurried  to 
the  good  canon's  house.  He  was  dead,  I  knew,  but  I 
had  set  my  heart  on  looking  once  more  upon  the  room 
in  which  we  had  spent  many  a  pleasant  evening,  sadly 
remembered  in  later  days.  I  found  the  canon's  nephew, 
and  his  wife,  who  both  received  me  like  an  old  friend.  A 
few  acquaintances  dropped  in,  and  the  party  did  not 
break  up  till  a  late  hour.  The  nephew  had  an  excellent 
satnbaglione  fetched  from  the  Cafe  Pedrocchi.  But  what 
especially  caused  us  to  linger  was  the  story  of  the  Duch- 
ess Sanseverina,  to  which  some  chance  allusion  was  made, 
and  the  whole  of  which  the  nephew  was  good  enough  to 
relate,  for  my  benefit. 

"  In  the  country  whither  I  am  bound,"  said  I  to  my 
friends,  "  I  am  very  unlikely  to  find  a  house  like  this  one. 
To  while  away  the  long  evenings  I  will  write  a  novel  on 

vii 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  life  of  yoiir  charming  Duchess  Sanseverina.  I  will 
follow  in  the  steps  of  that  old  story-teller  of  yours,  Ban- 
dello,  Bishop  of  Agen,  who  would  have  thought  it  a 
crime  to  overlook  the  true  incidents  of  his  tale,  or  add 
others  to  it." 

"  In  that  case,"  quoth  the  nephew,  "  I  will  lend  you 
my  uncle's  diaries.  Under  the  head  of  Parma  he  men- 
tions some  of  the  court  intrigues  of  that  place,  at  the 
period  when  the  influence  of  the  duchess  was  supreme. 
But  beware !  it  is  anything  but  a  moral  tale,  and  now  that 
you  French  people  pique  yourselves  on  your  Gospel  pu- 
rity, it  may  earn  you  a  highly  criminal  reputation." 

I  send  forth  my  novel  without  having  made  any 
change  in  the  manuscript  written  in  1830.  This  course 
may  present  two  drawbacks: 

The  first  affects  the  reader.  The  characters,  being 
Italian,  may  not  interest  him,  for  the  hearts  and  souls  of 
that  nation  are  very  different  from  the  hearts  and  souls 
of  Frenchmen.  The  Italians  are  a  sincere  and  worthy 
folk,  who,  except  when  they  are  offended,  say  what  they 
think.  Vanity  only  attacks  them  in  fits.  Then  it  be- 
comes a  passion,  and  is  known  as  puntiglio.  And,  further, 
among  this  nation  poverty  is  not  considered  a  cause  of 
ridicule. 

The  second  drawback  is  connected  with  the  author. 

I  will  avow  that  I  have  been  bold  enough  to  leave  my 
personages  in  possession  of  the  natural  roughnesses  of 
their  various  characters.  But  to  atone  for  this — and  I 
proclaim  it  loudly — I  cast  blame  of  the  most  highly 
moral  nature  upon  many  of  their  actions.  Where  would 
be  the  use  of  my  endowing  them  with  the  high  morality 
and  pleasing  charm  of  the  French,  who  love  money  above 
every  other  thing,  and  are  seldom  led  into  sin  either  by 

viii 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

love  or  hate?  The  Italians  of  my  novel  are  of  a  very  dif- 
ferent stamp.  And,  indeed,  it  appears  to  me  that  every 
stage  of  six  hundred  miles  northward  from  the  regions  of 
the  South  brings  us  to  a  different  landscape,  and  to  a 
different  kind  of  novel.  The  old  canon's  charming  niece 
had  known  the  duchess,  and  had  even  been  very  much 
attached  to  her.  She  has  begged  me  not  to  alter  any- 
thing concerning  these  adventures  of  her  friend,  which 
are  certainly  open  to  censure. 

January  aj,  i8jg. 


IX 


THE   CHARTREUSE   OF   PARMA 


THE  CHARTREUSE   OF   PARMA 


CHAPTER   I 

MILAN      IN      1796 

On  the  15th  of  May,  1796,  General  Bonaparte  marched 
into  the  city  of  Milan,  at  the  head  of  the  youthful  army 
which  had  just  crossed  the  Bridge  of  Lodi,  and  taught  the 
world  that,  after  the  lapse  of  centuries,  Caesar  and  Alexander 
had  found  a  successor  at  last. 

The  prodigies  of  genius  and  daring  witnessed  by  Italy 
in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  roused  her  people  from 
their  slumbers.  But  one  week  before  the  arrival  of  the 
French,  the  Milanese  still  took  them  for  a  horde  of 
brigands,  whose  habit  it  was  to  fly  before  the  troops  of 
his  Royal  and  Imperial  Majesty.  Such,  at  all  events,  was 
the  information  repeated  three  times  a  week  in  their  little 
newspaper,  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  and  printed  on 
dirty-looking  paper. 

In  the  middle  ages,  the  Milanese  had  been  as  brave  as 
the  French  of  the  Revolution,  and  their  courage  earned 
the  complete  destruction  of  their  city  by  the  German  em- 
peror. But  their  chief  occupation,  since  they  had  become 
his  "  faithful  subjects"  was  to  print  sonnets  on  pink  silk 
handkerchiefs  whenever  any  rich  or  well-born  young  lady 
was  given  in  marriage.  Two  or  three  years  after  that  great 
epoch  in  her  life  the  said  young  lady  chose  herself  a  cava- 
liere  servente;  the  name  of  this  cictsbeo,  selected  by  the 
husband's  family,  occasionally  held  an  honoured  place  in 
the  marriage  contract.  Between  such  effeminate  habits  and 
the  deep  emotions  stirred  by  the  unexpected  arrival  of 
the  French  army,  a  great  gulf  lay.    Before  long  a  new  and 

t 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

passionate  order  of  things  had  supervened.  On  May  I5i 
1796,  a  whole  people  became  aware  that  all  it  had  hitherto 
respected  was  supremely  ridiculous,  and  occasionally  hate- 
ful, to  boot.  The  departure  of  the  last  Austrian  regiment 
marked  the  downfall  of  the  old  ideas.  To  expose  one's 
life  became  the  fashionable  thing.  People  perceived,  after 
these  centuries  of  hypocrisy  and  insipidities,  that  the  only 
chance  of  happiness  lay  in  loving  with  real  passion,  and 
knowing  how  to  risk  one's  life  upon  occasion.  The  con- 
tinuance of  the  watchful  despotism  of  Charles  V  and  Philip 
II  had  plunged  the  Lombards  into  impenetrable  darkness. 
They  overthrew  these  rulers'  statues,  and  forthwith  found 
themselves  bathed  in  light.  For  fifty  years,  while  Voltaire's 
Encyclopedic  was  appearing  in  France,  the  monks  had 
been  assuring  the  good  folk  of  Milan  that  to  learn  to  read, 
or  to  learn  anything  on  earth,  was  idle  vexation  of  the 
spirit,  and  that  if  they  would  only  pay  their  priest's  dues 
honestly,  and  tell  him  all  their  small  sins  faithfully,  they 
were  almost  certain  to  secure  a  comfortable  place  in  para- 
dise. To  complete  the  emasculation  of  this  whilom  doughty 
people,  the  Austrian  had  sold  them,  on  moderate  terms,  the 
privilege  of  not  furnishing  recruits  to  the  imperial  army. 

In  1796,  the  Milanese  army  consisted  of  eighty  "  fac- 
chini "  in  red  coats,  who  kept  guard  over  the  town,  assisted 
by  four  splendid  Hungarian  regiments.  Morals  were  ex- 
ceedingly loose,  but  real  passion  excessively  rare.  Apart 
from  the  inconvenience  of  being  obliged  to  tell  everything 
to  his  priest,  the  Milanese  of  the  period  of  1790  really  did 
not  know  the  meaning  of  any  vehement  desire.  The  worthy 
citizens  were  still  trammelled  by  certain  monarchical  bonds, 
which  had  their  vexatious  side.  For  instance,  the  arch- 
duke, who  resided  in  the  city  and  governed  it  in  the  Em- 
peror's name,  had  pitched  on  the  very  lucrative  notion  of 
dealing  in  corn  stuffs.  Consequently,  no  peasant  could  sell 
his  crops  until  his  Imperial  Highness  had  filled  up  his 
granaries. 

In  May,  1796,  three  days  after  the  entry  of  the  French, 
a  young  miniature  painter  of  the  name  of  Gros,  rather  a 
mad  fellow — he  has  since  become  famous — who  had  arrived 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

with  the  troops,  heard  somebody  at  the  Cafe  dei  Servi,  then 
a  fashionable  resort,  relate  the  doings  of  the  archduke,  who 
was  a  very  fat  man.  Seizing  the  list  of  ices,  printed  on  a 
slip  of  common  yellowish  paper,  he  sketched  on  its  blank 
side  the  portly  archduke,  with  immoderate  quantities  of 
corn,  instead  of  blood,  pouring  out  of  the  hole  in  his 
stomach,  made  by  a  French  soldier's  bayonet.  In  this  land 
of  crafty  despotism,  that  which  we  call  jest  or  caricature 
was  unknown.  The  drawing  left  by  Gros  on  the  cafe  table 
acted  like  a  miracle  from  heaven.  During  the  night  the 
sketch  was  engraved;  on  the  morrow  twenty  thousand 
copies  of  it  were  sold. 

That  same  day  the  walls  were  posted  with  the  proclama- 
tion of  a  war  tax  of  six  millions  of  francs,  levied  for  the 
support  of  the  French  army,  which,  though  it  had  just  won 
six  battles  and  conquered  twenty  provinces,  was  short  of 
shoes,  pantaloons,  coats,  and  hats. 

So  great  was  the  volume  of  happiness  and  pleasure 
which  poured  into  Lombardy  with  these  Frenchmen,  poor 
as  they  were,  that  nobody,  save  the  priests  and  a  few  nobles, 
perceived  the  weight  of  the  tax,  which  was  soon  followed 
by  many  others.  The  French  soldiers  laughed  and  sang 
from  morning  till  night.  They  were  all  of  them  under  five- 
and-twenty,and  their  general  in  chief,  who  numbered  twenty- 
seven  years,  was  said  to  be  the  oldest  man  in  his  command. 
All  this  youth  and  mirth  and  gay  carelessness  made  cheery 
answer  to  the  furious  sermons  of  the  monks,  who  for  six 
months  past  had  been  asserting  from  the  pulpit  of  every 
sacred  edifice  that  these  Frenchmen  were  all  monsters, 
forced,  on  pain  of  death,  to  burn  down  everything,  and 
cut  oflf  every  head,  and  that  for  this  last  purpose  a  guil- 
lotine was  borne  at  the  head  of  every  regiment. 

In  country  places  the  French  soldier  was  to  be  seen 
sitting  at  cottage  doors  rocking  the  owner's  baby;  and 
almost  every  evening  some  drummer  would  tune  up  his 
violin,  and  dancing  would  begin.  The  French  square 
dances  were  far  too  difficult  and  complicated  to  be  taught 
to  the  peasant  women  by  the  soldiers,  who,  indeed,  knew 
but  little  about  them.    So  it  was  the  women  who  taught 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  Frenchmen  the  monferino,  the  saltarello,  and  other  Italian 
dances. 

The  officers  had  been  billeted,  as  far  as  possible, 
upon  rich  families.  They  were  in  sore  need  of  an  opportu- 
nity to  retrieve  past  losses.  A  lieutenant  named  Robert,  for 
instance,  was  billeted  in  the  palace  of  the  Marchesa  del 
Dongo.  When  this  officer,  a  tolerably  handy  young  recruit, 
entered  into  occupation  of  his  apartment,  his  sole  worldly 
wealth  consisted  of  a  six-franc  piece,  which  had  been  paid 
him  at  Piacenza.  After  the  passage  of  the  Bridge  of  Lodi 
he  had  stripped  a  handsome  Austrian  officer,  killed  by  a 
round  shot,  of  a  splendid  new  pair  of  nankeen  pantaloons. 
Never  did  garment  appear  at  a  more  appropriate  moment  1 
His  officer's  epaulets  were  woollen,  and  the  cloth  of  his 
coat  was  sewed  to  the  sleeve  linings,  to  keep  the  bits  to- 
gether. A  yet  more  melancholy  circumstance  was  that  the 
soles  of  his  shoes  were  composed  of  portions  of  hats,  picked 
up  on  the  battlefield  beyond  the  Bridge  of  Lodi.  These 
improvised  soles  were  bound  to  his  shoes  by  strings,  which 
were  aggressively  visible — so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  when 
the  major-domo  of  the  household  made  his  appearance  in 
Robert's  room,  to  invite  him  to  dine  with  the  marchesa, 
the  lieutenant  was  cast  into  a  state  of  mortal  confusion. 
He  and  his  orderly  spent  the  two  hours  intervening  before 
the  dreaded  repast  in  trying  to  stitch  the  coat  together,  and 
dye  the  unlucky  shoe-strings  with  ink.  At  last  the  awful 
moment  struck.  "  Never  in  all  my  life  did  I  feel  so  un- 
comfortable," said  Lieutenant  Robert  to  me.  "  The  ladies 
thought  I  was  going  to  frighten  them — but  I  trembled 
much  more  than  they!  I  kept  my  eyes  on  my  shoes,  and 
could  not  contrive  to  move  with  ease  or  grace. 

"  The  Marchesa  del  Dongo,"  he  added,  "  was  then  in 
the  heyday  of  her  beauty.  You  know  what  she  was,  with 
her  lovely  eyes,  angelic  in  their  gentleness,  and  the  pretty, 
fair  hair,  which  made  so  perfect  a  frame  for  the  oval  of 
her  charming  face.  In  my  room  there  was  an  Herodia,  by 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  which  might  have  been  her  portrait. 
God  willed  that  her  supernatural  beauty  should  so  over- 
whelm my  senses  as  to  make  me  quite  forget  my  own 

4 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

appearance.  For  two  years  I  had  been  in  the  Genoese 
mountains,  looking  at  nothing  but  ugliness  and  misery.  I 
ventured  to  say  a  few  words  about  my  delight. 

"  But  I  had  too  much  good  sense  to  dally  long  with  com- 
pliments. While  I  was  making  mine,  I  perceived  in  a 
palatial  marble  dining  hall  some  dozen  lackeys  and  men 
servants,  dressed  in  what  then  appeared  to  me  the  height  of 
magnificence.  Think  of  it!  The  rascals  not  only  wore 
good  shoes,  but  silver  buckles  into  the  bargain !  Out  of 
the  corner  of  my  eye  I  could  see  their  stupid  gaze  riveted 
on  my  coat,  and  perhaps,  too — and  this  wrung  my  heart — 
upon  my  shoes.  With  one  word  I  could  have  terrified  the 
whole  set,  but  how  was  I  to  put  them  in  their  place  with- 
out running  the  risk  of  alarming  the  ladies?  For  to  give 
herself  a  little  courage,  the  marchesa — she  has  told  me  so 
a  hundred  times  over  since — had  sent  to  the  convent, 
where  she  was  then  at  school,  for  her  husband's  sister, 
Gina  del  Dongo,  who  afterward  became  that  charming 
Contessa  Pietranera.  No  woman  was  ever  more  gay  and 
lovable  in  prosperity,  and  none  ever  surpassed  her  in  cour- 
age and  serenity  under  Fortune's  frowns. 

"  Gina,  who  may  then  have  been  thirteen,  but  looked 
eighteen,  frank  and  lively,  as  you  know,  was  so  afraid  of 
bursting  out  laughing  at  my  dress  that  she  dared  not  even 
eat.  The  marchesa,  on  the  contrary,  overwhelmed  me  with 
stiff  civilities ;  she  read  my  impatience  and  discomfort  in 
my  eyes.  In  a  word,  I  cut  a  sorry  figure.  I  was  chewing 
the  cud  of  scorn,  which  no  Frenchman  is  supposed  to  be 
capable  of  doing.  At  last  Heaven  sent  me  a  brilliant  notion. 
I  began  to  tell  the  ladies  about  my  poverty  and  the  misery 
we  had  suffered  during  those  two  years  in  the  Genoese 
mountains,  where  the  folly  of  our  old  generals  had  kept 
us.  *  There,'  said  I,  '  they  gave  us  assignats  which  the 
people  would  not  take  in  payment,  and  three  ounces  of 
bread  a  day.'  Before  I  had  been  talking  for  two  minutes 
the  kind  marchesa's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  and  Gina  had 
grown  quite  serious.  '  What,  lieutenant ! '  she  cried,  '  three 
ounces  of  bread  ?  ' 

"  *  Yes,  mademoiselle.     But,   on   the  other  hand,  the 

5 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

supply  failed  three  times  in  the  week,  and  as  the  peasants 
with  whom  we  lived  were  even  poorer  than  ourselves,  we 
used  to  give  them  a  little  of  our  bread.' 

"  When  we  rose  from  table  I  offered  the  marchesa  my 
arm,  escorted  her  as  far  as  the  drawing-room  door,  then, 
hastily  retracing  my  steps,  presented  the  servant  who  had 
waited  upon  me  at  dinner  with  the  solitary  coin  on  the 
spending  of  which  I  had  built  such  castles  in  the  air. 

"  A  week  later,"  Robert  went  on,  "  when  it  had  become 
quite  clear  that  the  French  did  not  guillotine  anybody,  the 
Marchese  del  Dongo  returned  from  Grianta,  his  country 
house  on  Lake  Como,  where  he  had  valiantly  taken  refuge 
when  the  army  drew  near,  leaving  his  young  and  lovely 
wife  and  his  sister  to  the  chances  of  war.  The  marchese's 
hatred  of  us  was  only  equalled  by  his  dread.  Both  were 
immeasurable.  It  used  to  amuse  me  to  see  his  large,  pale, 
hypocritical  face  when  he  was  trying  to  be  polite  to  me. 
The  day  after  his  return  to  Milan  I  received  three  ells  of 
cloth  and  two  hundred  francs  out  of  the  six  millions.  I 
put  on  fresh  plumage  and  became  the  ladies  cavalier,  for 
ball  giving  began." 

Lieutenant  Robert's  story  was  very  much  that  of  all  the 
French  soldiers.  Instead  of  laughing  at  the  brave  fel- 
lows' poverty,  people  pitied  them  and  learned  to  love  them. 
This  period  of  unforeseen  happiness  and  rapture  lasted  only 
two  short  years.  So  excessive  and  so  general  was  the  frolic 
that  I  can  not  possibly  convey  an  idea  of  it,  unless  it  be  by 
means  of  the  following  profound  historic  reflection:  This 
nation  had  been  bored  for  a  century! 

The  sensuality  natural  to  southern  countries  had  for- 
merly reigned  at  the  courts  of  those  famous  Milanese  dukes, 
the  Sforza  and  the  Visconti.  But  since  the  year  1624,  when 
the  Spaniards  had  seized  the  province,  and  held  it  under  the 
proud,  taciturn,  distrustful  sway  of  masters  who  suspected 
revolt  in  every  corner,  merriment  had  fled  away,  and  the 
populace,  aping  its  rulers'  habits,  was  much  more  prone  to 
avenge  the  slightest  insult  with  a  dagger  thrust,  than  to 
enjoy  the  moment  as  it  passed. 

But  between  May  15,  1796,  when  the  French  entered 

0 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Milan,  and  April,  1799,  when  they  were  driven  out  of 
the  city  by  the  battle  of  Cassano,  wild  merriment,  gaiety, 
voluptuous  pleasure,  and  oblivion  of  every  sad,  or  even  ra- 
tional sentiment,  reached  such  a  pitch  that  old  millionaire 
merchants,  usurers,  and  notaries  were  actually  quoted  by 
name  as  having  forgotten  their  morose  and  money-getting 
habits  during  that  period.  One  might  have  found  a  few 
families  of  the  highest  rank  that  had  retired  to  their  coun- 
try places  to  sulk  at  the  general  cheerfulness  and  universal 
joy.  And  it  is  a  fact,  further,  that  these  families  had  been 
honoured  with  a  disagreeable  amount  of  attention  by  the 
authorities  in  charge  of  the  war  tax,  levied  for  the  benefit 
of  the  French  troops. 

The  Marchese  del  Dongo,  disgusted  at  the  sight  of  so 
much  gaiety,  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  return  to  his 
magnificent  country  seat  at  Grianta,  beyond  Como,  whither 
the  ladies  of  his  family  conducted  Lieutenant  Robert.  This 
castle,  standing  in  what  is  probably  a  unique  position,  on 
a  plateau  some  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  splen- 
did lake,  and  commanding  a  great  portion  of  it,  had  once 
been  a  fortress.  It  had  been  built,  as  the  numerous  marble 
slabs  bearing  the  family  arms  attested,  during  the  fifteenth 
century.  The  drawbridges  were  still  to  be  seen,  and  the 
deep  moats — now  dry,  to  be  sure.  Still,  with  its  walls 
eighty  feet  high  and  six  feet  thick,  the  castle  was  safe  from  a 
coup  de  main,  and  this  fact  endeared  it  to  the  suspicious 
marchese.  Living  there,  surrounded  by  five-and-twenty  or 
thirty  servants,  whom  he  believed  to  be  devoted  to  him — 
apparently  because  he  never  spoke  to  them  without  abusing 
them — he  was  less  harried  by  fear  than  at  Milan. 

This  alarm  was  not  entirely  unwarranted.  The  marchese 
was  in  active  correspondence  with  an  Austrian  spy  sta- 
tioned on  the  Swiss  frontier,  three  leagues  from  Grianta, 
to  assist  the  escape  of  prisoners  taken  in  battle,  and  the 
French  generals  might  have  taken  this  exchange  of  notes 
very  seriously. 

The  marchese  had  left  his  young  wife  at  Milan  to  man- 
age the  family  affairs.  She  it  was  who  had  to  find  means 
of   supplying  the   contributions   levied   on   the    Casa   del 

7 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Dongo,  as  it  was  locally  called,  and  to  endeavour  to  get 
them  reduced,  which  involved  the  necessity  of  her  seeing 
the  noblemen  who  had  accepted  public  positions,  and  even 
some  very  influential  persons  who  were  not  noble  at  all.  A 
great  event  occurred  in  the  family.  The  marchese  had  ar- 
ranged a  marriage  for  his  young  sister  Gina  with  a  gentle- 
man of  great  wealth  and  the  very  highest  descent.  But  he 
powdered  his  head.  Wherefore  Gina  received  him  with 
shrieks  of  laughter,  and  shortly  committed  the  folly  of  mar- 
rying Count  Pietranera.  He,  too,  was  a  high-born  gentle- 
man, and  very  good-looking  as  well,  but  he  was  ruined,  as 
his  father  had  been  before  him,  and — crowning  disgrace ! — 
he  was  an  eager  partisan  of  the  modern  ideas!  The  mar- 
chese's  despair  was  completed  by  the  fact  that  Pietranera 
was  a  lieutenant  in  the  Italian  Legion. 

After  two  years  of  extravagance  and  bliss,  the  Paris  Di- 
rectorate, which  took  on  all  the  airs  of  a  well-established 
sovereignty,  began  to  manifest  a  mortal  hatred  of  everything 
that  rose  above  mediocrity.  The  incapable  generals  sent  to 
the  Army  of  Italy  lost  a  series  of  battles  on  those  very  plains 
of  Verona  which  but  two  years  previously  had  witnessed 
the  feats  of  Areola  and  Lonato.  The  Austrians  approached 
Milan;  Lieutenant  Robert,  now  a  major,  was  wounded  at 
the  battle  of  Cassano,  and  came  back  for  the  last  time  to 
the  house  of  his  friend  the  Marchesa  del  Dongo.  It  was 
a  sad  farewell.  Robert  departed  with  Count  Pietranera, 
who  was  following  the  French  retreat  on  Novi.  The  young 
countess,  whose  brother  had  refused  to  give  up  her  for- 
tune, followed  the  retreating  army  in  a  cart. 

Then  began  that  period  of  reaction  and  return  to  the 
old  ideas  which  the  Milanese  call  "  i  tredici  mesi "  (the  thir- 
teen months)  because  their  lucky  star  did  not  permit  this 
relapse  into  imbecility  to  last  beyond  the  battle  of  Marengo. 
Everything  that  was  old,  bigoted,  morose,  and  gloomy 
came  back  to  the  head  of  aflfairs  and  of  society.  Before 
long,  those  who  had  remained  faithful  to  the  old  order  were 
telling  the  villagers  that  Napoleon  had  met  the  fate  he  so 
richly  deserved,  and  had  been  hanged  by  the  Mamelukes 
in  Egypt. 

8 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Among  the  men  who  had  retired  to  sulk  in  their  country 
houses,  and  who  now  came  back,  thirsting  for  vengeance, 
the  Marchese  del  Dongo  distinguished  himself  by  his  eager- 
ness. His  zeal  naturally  bore  him  to  the  head  of  the  party. 
The  gentlemen  composing  it,  very  amiable  fellows  when 
they  were  not  in  a  fright,  but  who  were  still  in  a  state  of 
trepidation,  contrived  to  circumvent  the  Austrian  general, 
who,  though  rather  of  a  kindly  disposition,  allowed  himself 
to  be  persuaded  that  severity  was  a  mark  of  statesmanship, 
and  ordered  the  arrest  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  patriots.  They 
were  the  best  men  Italy  then  possessed. 

Soon  they  were  all  deported  to  the  Bocche  de  Cattaro, 
and  cast  into  subterranean  dungeons,  where  damp  and, 
especially,  starvation  wreaked  prompt  and  thorough  justice 
on  the  villains. 

The  Marchese  del  Dongo  was  appointed  to  an  important 
post ;  and  as  the  meanest  avarice  accompanied  his  numerous 
other  noble  qualities,  he  publicly  boasted  that  he  had  not 
sent  a  single  crown  to  his  sister,  the  Countess  Pietranera. 
This  lady,  still  fathoms  deep  in  love,  would  not  forsake  her 
husband,  and  was  starving  with  him  in  France.  The  kind- 
hearted  marchesa  was  in  despair.  At  last  she  contrived  to 
abstract  a  few  small  diamonds  from  her  jewel  -case,  which 
her  husband  took  from  her  every  night  and  locked  up  in 
an  iron  box  under  his  bed.  She  had  brought  him  a  dowry 
of  eight  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  he  allowed  her  eighty 
francs  a  month  for  her  personal  expenses.  During  the 
thirteen  months  of  the  absence  of  the  French  from  Milan, 
this  woman,  timid  as  she  was,  found  pretexts  of  one  sort  or 
another  which  enabled  her  always  to  dress  in  black. 

It  must  be  confessed  here  that,  after  the  example  of 
many  serious  authors,  we  have  begun  the  story  of  our  hero  a 
year  before  his  birth.  This  important  personage  is  no  other, 
in  fact,  than  Fabrizio  Valserra,  Marchesino  del  Dongo,  as  he 
would  be  called  at  Milan.*  He  had  just  condescended  to 
come  into  the  world  when  the  French  were  driven  out,  the 

*  The  habit  of  the  country,  borrowed  from  that  of  Germany,  is  that 
all  the  sons  of  a  marchese  should  be  called  marchesino.  The  son  of  a 
count  is  known  as  contino  ;  each  of  his  daughters  is  a  conUssina, 

9 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

chances  of  his  birth  making  him  the  second  son  of  that 
most  noble  Marchese  del  Dongo,  with  whose  large,  pallid 
countenance,  deceitful  smile,  and  boundless  hatred  of  the 
new  order  of  ideas,  my  readers  are  already  acquainted.  The 
whole  of  the  family  fortune  was  entailed  on  the  eldest  boy, 
Ascanio  del  Dongo,  the  perfect  image  of  his  father.  He 
was  eight  years  old,  and  Fabrizio  two,  when,  like  a  flash, 
that  General  Bonaparte  whom  all  well-born  folk  believed  to 
have  been  hanged  long  since,  descended  from  Mount  St. 
Bernard.  He  made  his  entry  into  Milan ;  the  event  is 
still  unique  in  history.  Conceive  a  whole  population  over 
head  and  ears  in  love !  A  few  days  later  Napoleon  won  the 
battle  of  Marengo.  I  need  not  tell  the  rest.  The  rapture 
of  the  Milanese  overflowed  the  cup.  But  this  time  it  was 
mingled  with  thoughts  of  vengeance.  A  good-natured  folk 
had  been  taught  to  hate.  Soon  the  remnant  of  the  patriots 
exiled  to  Cattaro  reappeared,  and  their  return  was  cele- 
brated by  national  festivities.  Their  pale  faces,  great 
startled  eyes,  and  emaciated  limbs,  contrasted  strangely  with 
the  joy  that  reigned  on  every  side.  Their  arrival  was  the 
signal  for  the  departure  of  the  families  most  concerned  in 
their  banishment.  The  Marchese  del  Dongo  was  one  of 
the  first  to  flee  to  his  house  at  Grianta.  The  heads  of  the 
great  families  were  filled  with  rage  and  terror,  but  their 
wives  and  daughters,  remembering  the  delights  of  the  first 
French  occupation,  sighed  regretfully  for  Milan  and  the  gay 
balls  which,  once  Marengo  was  over,  were  given  at  the  Casa 
Tanzi,  A  few  days  after  the  victory  the  French  general 
charged  with  the  duty  of  maintaining  quiet  in  Lombardy 
became  aware  that  all  the  tenants  of  the  noble  families,  and 
all  the  old  women  in  the  country,  far  from  dwelling  on 
the  wonderful  victory  which  had  changed  the  fate  of  Italy, 
and  reconquered  thirteen  fortresses  in  one  day,  were  think- 
ing of  nothing  but  the  prophecy  of  San  Giovita,  the  chief 
patron  saint  of  Brescia,  according  to  which  sacred  pro- 
nouncement the  prosperity  of  Napoleon  and  of  the  French 
nation  was  to  end  just  thirteen  weeks  after  Marengo.  Some 
slight  excuse  for  the  Marchese  del  Dongo  and  all  the  sulky 
country  nobility  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  they  really 

lO 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  truly  did  believe  in  this  prophecy.  None  of  these 
people  had  read  four  books  in  his  life.  They  openly  pre- 
pared to  return  to  Milan  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  week, 
but  as  time  went  on,  it  was  marked  by  fresh  successes  on 
the  French  side.  Napoleon,  who  had  returned  to  Paris, 
saved  the  revolution  from  within  by  his  wise  decrees,  even 
as  he  had  saved  it  from  foreign  attack  at  Marengo.  Then 
the  Lombard  nobles  in  their  country  refuges  discovered 
that  they  had  misunderstood  the  prediction  of  the  patron 
saint  of  Brescia.  He  must  have  meant  thirteen  months  in- 
stead of  thirteen  weeks!  But  the  thirteen  months  slipped 
by,  and  the  prosperity  of  France  seemed  to  rise  higher 
day  by  day. 

We  pass  over  the  ten  years  of  happiness  and  progress 
between  1800  and  18 10.  Fabrizio  spent  the  earliest  of  them 
at  Grianta,  where  he  dealt  out  many  hard  knocks  among  the 
little  peasant  boys,  and  received  them  back  with  interest, 
but  learned  nothing — not  even  to  read.  Later  he  was  sent 
to  the  Jesuit  school  at  Milan.  The  marchese,  his  father, 
insisted  that  he  should  learn  Latin,  not  out  of  those  ancient 
authors  who  are  always  holding  forth  about  republics,  but 
out  of  a  splendid  tome  enriched  with  more  than  a  hundred 
and  fifty  engravings,  a  masterpiece  of  seventeenth-century 
art,  the  Latin  Genealogy  of  the  Valserra,  Marchesi  del 
Dongo,  published  by  Fabrizio  del  Dongo,  Archbishop  of 
Parma,  in  the  year  1650.  The  Valserra  were  essentially  a 
fighting  race,  and  these  engravings  represented  numerous 
battles,  in  which  some  hero  of  the  name  was  always  depicted 
as  laying  about  mightily  with  his  sword. 

This  book  was  a  great  delight  to  young  Fabrizio.  His 
mother,  who  adored  him,  was  allowed  now  and  then  to 
go  to  Milan  to  see  him,  but  her  husband  never  offered 
to  pay  the  cost  of  these  journeys.  The  money  was  always 
lent  her  by  her  sister-in-law,  the  charming  Countess  Pietra- 
nera,  who,  after  the  return  of  the  French,  had  become  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  of  the  ladies  at  the  court  of  the  Viceroy 
of  Italy,  Prince  Eugene. 

After  Fabrizio  had  made  his  first  communion,  the 
countess  persuaded  the  marchese,  who  still  lived  in  volun- 

II 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

tary  exile,  to  allow  the  boy  to  pay  her  occasional  visits.  He 
struck  her  as  being  out  of  the  common,  clever,  very  serious, 
but  handsome,  and  no  discredit  to  a  fashionable  lady's 
drawing-room — though  he  was  utterly  ignorant,  and  hardly 
knew  how  to  write.  The  countess,  who  carried  her  char- 
acteristic enthusiasm  into  everything  she  did,  promised  her 
protection  to  the  head  of  the  Jesuit  house  if  only  her 
nephew  Fabrizio  made  astonishing  progress  in  his  studies, 
and  won  several  prizes  at  the  close  of  the  year.  To  put 
him  in  the  way  of  earning  such  rewards,  she  sent  for  him 
every  Saturday  night,  and  frequently  did  not  restore  him 
to  his  teachers  till  the  Wednesday  or  Thursday  following. 
Though  the  Jesuits  were  tenderly  cherished  by  the  Viceroy, 
their  presence  in  Italy  was  forbidden  by  the  laws  of  the 
kingdom,  and  the  Superior  of  the  college,  a  clever  man, 
realized  all  the  benefits  that  might  accrue  from  his  relations 
with  a  lady  who  was  all-powerful  at  court.  He  was  too 
wise  to  complain  of  Fabrizio's  absences,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  year  five  first  prizes  were  conferred  on  the  youth, 
who  was  more  ignorant  than  ever.  In  the  circumstances, 
the  brilliant  Countess  Pietranera,  attended  by  her  husband, 
then  general  in  command  of  one  of  the  divisions  of  the 
Guard,  and  five  or  six  of  the  most  important  personages 
about  the  Viceroy's  court,  attended  the  distribution  of  prizes 
in  the  Jesuit  school.  The  Superior  received  the  congratula- 
tions of  the  heads  of  his  order. 

The  countess  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  her  nephew 
to  all  the  gay  fetes  which  enlivened  the  kindly  Viceroy's 
too  short  reign.  She  had  made  him  an  officer  of  hussars,  on 
her  own  authority,  and  the  twelve-year-old  boy  wore  his 
uniform.  One  day  the  countess,  delighted  with  his  hand- 
some looks,  asked  the  prince  to  make  him  a  page,  which 
would  have  been  tantamount,  of  course,  to  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  adherence  to  the  new  order  of  things  of  the  Del 
Dongo  family.  The  next  morning  she  was  fain  to  use  all 
her  influence  to  induce  the  Viceroy  kindly  to  forget  her 
request,  which  lacked  nothing  but  the  consent  of  the 
father  of  the  future  page — a  consent  which  would  have 
been  loudly  refused.     As  a  result  of  this  piece  of  folly, 

12 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

which  made  him  shiver,  the  sulky  marchese  coined  some 
pretext  for  recalling  young  Fabrizio  to  Grianta.  The 
countess  nursed  a  sovereign  contempt  for  her  brother, 
whom  she  regarded  as  a  dreary  fool,  who  would  be  spite- 
ful if  he  ever  had  the  power.  But  she  doted  on  Fabrizio, 
and  after  ten  years  of  silence  she  wrote  to  the  marchese,  to 
beg  that  she  might  have  her  nephew  with  her.  Her  letter 
remained  unanswered. 

When  Fabrizio  returned  to  the  formidable  pile  built  by 
the  most  warlike  of  his  ancestors  he  knew  nothing  about 
anything  in  the  world  except  drill,  and  riding  on  horseback. 
Count  Fietranera,  who  had  been  as  fond  of  the  child  as 
his  wife,  had  taught  him  to  ride,  and  taken  him  with  him 
on  parade. 

When  the  boy  reached  Grianta,  with  eyes  still  reddened 
by  the  tears  he  had  shed  on  leaving  his  aunt's  splendid  apart- 
ments, his  only  greeting  was  that  of  his  mother,  who  cov- 
ered him  with  passionate  caresses,  and  of  his  sisters.  The 
marchese  was  shut  up  in  his  study  with  his  eldest  son,  the 
Marchesino  Ascanio.  They  were  busy  writing  letters  in 
cipher,  which  were  to  have  the  honour  of  being  sent  to 
Vienna,  and  they  were  only  visible  at  mealtimes.  The 
marchese  ostentatiously  declared  that  he  was  teaching  his 
natural  successor  to  keep  the  accounts  of  the  revenues  of 
each  of  his  estates  by  double  entry,  but  in  reality  he  was 
far  too  jealous  by  nature  to  mention  such  matters  to  the  son 
on  whom  these  properties  were  absolutely  entailed.  He 
really  employed  him  to  translate  into  cipher  the  despatches 
of  fifteen  or  twenty  pages  which  he  sent,  two  or  three  times  a 
week,  across  the  Swiss  frontier,  whence  they  were  conveyed 
to  Vienna.  The  marchese  claimed  that  he  thus  kept  his 
legitimate  sovereign  informed  as  to  the  internal  conditions 
of  the  kingdom  of  Italy — a  subject  about  which  he  himself 
knew  nothing  at  all.  His  letters,  however,  won  him  great 
credit,  and  for  the  following  reason :  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  employing  some  trusty  agent  to  count  up  the  numbers 
of  any  French  or  Italian  regiment  that  marched  along  the 
highroad  when  changing  its  place  of  garrison,  and  in  mak- 
ing his  report  to  Vienna  he  always  carefully  diminished  the 

15 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

number  of  men  reported  present  by  a  full  fourth.  These 
letters,  then,  ridiculous  as  they  otherwise  were,  had  the 
merit  of  contradicting  others  of  a  more  truthful  nature,  and 
thus  gave  pleasure  in  high  quarters.  Consequently,  not 
long  before  Fabrizio's  return  to  Grianta,  the  marchese  had 
received  the  star  of  a  famous  order — the  fifth  that  adorned 
his  chamberlain's  coat.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  he  had  to 
endure  the  grief  of  never  wearing  the  said  coat  outside  the 
walls  of  his  own  study,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  never 
ventured  to  dictate  any  despatch  without  first  enduing  his 
person  with  the  richly  embroidered  garment,  hung  with 
all  his  orders.  Any  other  course  would  have  seemed  to 
him  a  failure  in  respect. 

The  marchesa  was  delighted  with  her  boy's  charms. 
But  she  had  kept  up  the  habit  of  writing,  twice  or  thrice 

in  the  year,  to   General   Comte  d'A (the  name  then 

borne  by  Lieutenant  Robert).  She  had  a  horror  of  lying 
to  those  she  loved ;  she  questioned  her  son,  and  was  startled 
by  his  ignorance, 

"  If,"  she  argued,  "  he  appears  ill-instructed  to  me,  who 
know  nothing,  Robert,  who  knows  so  much,  would  think 
his  education  an  utter  failure;  and  nowadays  some  merit 
is  indispensable  to  success !  "  Another  peculiarity,  which 
almost  equally  astounded  her,  was  that  Fabrizio  had  taken 
all  the  religious  teaching  given  him  by  the  Jesuits  quite 
seriously.  Though  herself  a  very  pious  woman,  her  child's 
fanaticism  made  her  shiver.  "  If  the  marchese  has  the  sense 
to  suspect  this  means  of  influencing  my  son,  he  will  rob 
me  of  his  love !  "  She  wept  many  tears,  and  her  passionate 
love  for  Fabrizio  deepened. 

Life  in  the  great  country  house,  with  its  thirty  or  forty 
servants,  was  very  dull ;  and  Fabrizio  spent  all  his  days 
hunting,  or  skimming  over  the  waters  of  the  lake  in  a  boat. 
He  was  soon  the  sworn  ally  of  all  the  coachmen  and  stable 
assistants — every  one  of  them  a  vehement  partisan  of  the 
French — who  made  open  sport  of  the  highly  religious  valets 
attached  to  the  persons  of  the  marchese  and  his  elder  son. 
The  great  joke  against  these  individuals  was  that,  like  their 
masters,  they  wore  powder  in  their  hair. 

14 


CHAPTER  II 

..."  Alors  que  Vesper  vient  embrunir  nos  yeux 
Tout  6pris  de  I'avenir,  je  contemple  les  cieux. 
En  qui  Dieu  nous  escrit,  par  notes  non  obscures 
Les  sorts  et  les  destins  de  toutes  creatures. 
Car  lui,  du  fond  des  cieux  regardant  un  humain, 
Parfois,  mu  de  piti6,  lui  montre  le  chemin  ; 
Par  les  astres  du  ciel,  qui  sont  ses  caracteres, 
Les  choses  nous  predit,  et  bonnes  et  contraires  ; 
Mais  les  hommes,  charges  de  terre  et  de  tr6pas, 
M^prisent  tel  6crit,  et  ne  le  lisent  pas." — Hansard. 

The  marchese  professed  a  hearty  hatred  of  knowledge, 
"  Ideas,"  he  said,  "  have  been  the  ruin  of  Italy."  He  was 
somewhat  puzzled  to  reconcile  this  holy  horror  of  informa- 
tion with  his  desire  that  Fabrizio  should  perfect  the  educa- 
tion so  brilliantly  begun  under  the  auspices  of  the  Jesuits. 

To  minimize  the  risk  as  far  as  possible,  he  commissioned 
the  worthy  priest  of  Grianta,  Father  Blanes,  to  carry  on 
the  boy's  Latin  studies.  To  this  end  the  priest  should  him- 
self have  been  acquainted  with  the  language.  But  he  thor- 
oughly despised  it.  His  knowledge  of  it  was  restricted  to 
the  prayers  in  his  missal,  which  he  knew  by  rote,  and  the 
sense  of  which,  or  something  near  it,  he  was  capable  of  im- 
parting to  his  flock.  None  the  less  was  the  father  re- 
spected, and  even  feared,  all  over  the  canton.  He  had 
always  averred  that  the  famous  prophecy  of  San  Giovita, 
patron  saint  of  Brescia,  would  not  be  accomplished  either  in 
thirteen  weeks  or  thirteen  months.  He  would  confide  to 
his  trusted  friends  that  if  he  dared  speak  openly  he  could 
give  the  proper  interpretation  of  the  number  thirteen,  and 
that  it  would  cause  general  astonishment  (1813). 

The  fact  is  that  Father  Blanes — a  man  of  primitive  vir- 
tue and  honesty,  and  a  clever  one  into  the  bargain — spent 

15 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

most  of  his  nights  on  the  top  of  his  church  tower.  He  had 
a  mania  for  astrology,  and,  after  calculating  the  positions 
and  conjunctions  of  the  stars  all  day,  would  pass  the  greater 
part  of  his  nights  in  tracing  them  in  the  sky.  So  poor  was 
he  that  his  only  instrument  was  a  telescope  with  a  long  card- 
board tube.  My  reader  will  conceive  the  scorn  for  lin- 
guistic study  nursed  by  a  man  who  spent  his  life  in  discov- 
ering the  precise  moment  at  which  empires  were  to  fall, 
and  revolutions,  destined  to  change  the  face  of  the  whole 
world,  were  to  begin.  "  What  more  do  I  know  about  a 
horse,"  he  would  say  to  Fabrizio,  "  because  somebody  tells 
me  its  Latin  name  is  Equus  ?  " 

The  peasants  dreaded  the  priest  as  a  mighty  magician, 
and  he,  through  the  fear  inspired  by  his  tarryings  on  the 
top  of  his  tower,  prevented  them  from  thieving.  His 
brother  priests  of  the  neighbouring  parishes  envied  him 
his  influence,  and  hated  him  accordingly.  The  marchese 
frankly  despised  him,  because  he  reasoned  too  much  for 
a  person  in  so  humble  a  position.  Fabrizio  worshipped 
him.  To  please  him  he  would  sometimes  spend  whole 
evenings  over  huge  sums  in  addition  or  multiplication. 
And  then  he  would  climb  up  into  the  tower.  This  was  a 
great  favour — one  the  priest  had  never  bestowed  on  any 
other  person.  But  he  loved  the  boy  for  the  sake  of  his 
simplicity.  "  If  you  don't  become  a  hypocrite,"  he  would 
say,  "  you  may  turn  into  a  man !  " 

Twice  or  thrice  in  every  year,  Fabrizio,  who  was  bold 
and  passionate  in  the  pursuit  of  his  pleasures,  ran  seri- 
ous risks  of  drowning  in  the  lake.  He  was  the  head  and 
front  of  all  the  great  expeditions  of  the  peasant  boys  of  Gri- 
anta  and  Cadenabbia.  These  urchins  had  provided  them- 
selves with  a  collection  of  small  keys,  and  when  the  very 
dark  nights  came,  they  did  their  best  to  open  the  padlocks 
on  the  chains  by  which  the  fishermen  moored  their  boats 
to  some  big  stone  or  tree  close  to  the  shore.  It  must  be 
explained  that  on  the  Lake  of  Como  the  fisherman  puts 
down  his  lines  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  edge 
of  the  lake.  The  upper  end  of  each  line  is  fastened  to  a 
lath  lined  with  cork,  to  which  is  fixed  a  very  flexible  hazel 

l6 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

rod  bearing  a  little  bell,  which  tinkles  as  soon  as  the  fish 
takes  the  bait  and  shakes  the  float. 

The  great  object  of  the  nocturnal  raids,  in  which  Fabri- 
zio  acted  as  commander  in  chief,  was  to  get  to  these  lines 
before  the  fishermen  heard  the  tinkling  of  their  little  bells. 
The  boys  chose  stormy  seasons,  and  embarked  on  their 
risky  enterprises  early  in  the  morning,  an  hour  before  dawn. 
They  felt  convinced,  when  they  got  into  their  boats,  that 
they  were  rushing  into  terrible  danger — this  constituted 
the  splendid  aspect  of  their  undertaking — and,  like  their 
fathers,  they  always  devoutly  recited  an  Ave  Maria.  Now, 
it  frequently  would  happen  that  at  the  very  moment  of  the 
start,  and  the  instant  after  the  recital  of  the  Ave  Maria, 
Fabrizio  would  be  struck  by  an  omen.  This  was  the  fruit, 
as  affecting  him,  of  his  friend  the  priest's  astrology,  in  the 
actual  predictions  of  which  he  had  no  belief  at  all.  To  his 
juvenile  imagination  these  omens  were  a  certain  indication 
of  success  or  failure,  and  as  he  was  more  resolute  than  any 
of  his  comrades,  the  whole  band  gradually  grew  so  accus- 
tomed to  accept  such  signs  that  if,  just  as  the  boat  was 
shoving  off,  a  priest  was  seen  on  the  coast  line,  or  a  raven 
flew  away  on  the  left,  the  padlock  was  hastily  put  back  upon 
the  chain  and  every  boy  went  home  to  bed.  Thus,  though 
Father  Blanes  had  not  imparted  his  somewhat  recondite 
science  to  Fabrizio,  he  had  imbued  him,  all  unconsciously, 
with  an  unlimited  confidence  in  those  signs  and  portents 
which  may  unveil  the  future. 

The  marchese  was  conscious  that  an  accident  to  his 
secret  correspondence  might  place  him  at  his  sister's  mercy. 
Every  year,  therefore,  when  the  St,  Angela  (the  Countess 
Pietranera's  feast  day)  came  around,  Fabrizio  was  allowed 
to  spend  a  week  at  Milan.  All  through  the  year  he  lived  on 
the  hope,  or  the  regretful  memory,  of  those  seven  days. 
On  so  great  an  occasion,  and  to  defray  the  expenses  of  this 
politic  journey,  the  marchese  would  give  his  son  four 
crowns.  To  his  wife,  who  went  with  the  boy,  he  gave,  as 
usual,  nothing  at  all.  But  a  cook,  six  lackeys,  and  a  coach- 
man and  pair  of  horses  started  for  Como  the  night  before 
the  travellers,  and  while  the  marchesa  was  at  Milan  her 

17 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

carriage  was  at  her  disposal,  and  dinner  for  twelve  persons 
was  served  every  day. 

The  sullen  retirement  in  which  the  Marchese  del  Dongo 
elected  to  live  was  certainly  not  an  amusing  form  of  exist- 
ence. But  it  had  one  advantage,  that  of  permanently  en- 
riching the  coffers  of  the  families  who  chose  to  adopt  it. 
The  marchese  owned  a  revenue  of  more  than  two  hundred 
thousand  francs ;  he  did  not  spend  a  quarter  of  it.  He  lived 
on  hope.  During  the  years  between  1800  and  1813  he 
remained  in  the  firm  and  unceasing  expectation  that  Na- 
poleon would  be  overthrown  before  the  next  six  months 
were  out.  His  joy  when  he  received  the  news  of  the  catas- 
trophe of  the  Beresina,  in  the  spring  of  1813,  may  conse- 
quently be  imagined.  The  capture  of  Paris  and  the  fall  of 
Napoleon  almost  drove  him  wild  with  joy,  and  he  ven- 
tured on  behaviour  of  the  most  insulting  nature,  both  to 
his  wife  and  his  sister.  At  last,  after  fourteen  years  of 
waiting,  he  tasted  the  inexpressible  delight  of  seeing  the 
Austrian  troops  re-enter  Milan.  The  general  in  command, 
obeying  orders  sent  from  Vienna,  received  the  Marchese 
del  Dongo  with  a  courtesy  which  almost  amounted  to  re- 
spect. One  of  the  highest  offices  connected  with  the  Gov- 
ernment was  at  once  offered  him,  and  he  accepted  it  as 
the  discharge  of  a  just  debt.  His  eldest  son  was  made  a 
lieutenant  in  one  of  the  finest  of  the  imperial  regiments,  but 
Fabrizio  would  never  have  anything  to  do  with  the  cadet's 
commission  which  was  offered  for  his  acceptance.  The 
marchese's  triumph,  which  he  enjoyed  with  peculiar  inso- 
lence, lasted  but  a  few  months,  and  was  followed  by  a  most 
humiliating  reverse.  He  had  never  possessed  any  business 
aptitude,  and  his  fourteen  years  of  country  life,  surrounded 
by  his  servants,  his  notary,  and  his  doctor,  coupled  with 
the  ill  humour  which  had  crept  upon  him  with  advancing 
years,  had  developed  his  incapacity  to  the  extremest  point. 
In  Austria  no  important  post  can  be  held  for  long  by  any 
person  lacking  that  particular  talent  demanded  by  the  slow 
and  complicated,  but  essentially  logical,  system  of  admin- 
istration peculiar  to  that  ancient  monarchy.  The  mar- 
chese's blunders  scandalized  the  clerks  of  his  department, 

|8 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  even  hampered  the  progress  of  business,  while  his 
ultra-monarchical  vapourings  irritated  a  populace  which  it 
was  important  to  lull  back  into  its  former  state  of  slum- 
brous indifference.  So,  one  fine  day,  he  was  informed  that 
his  Majesty  was  graciously  pleased  to  accept  his  resigna- 
tion of  his  office,  and  simultaneously  appointed  him  sec- 
ond grand  major-domo  of  the  Lombardo-Venetian  King- 
dom. The  marchese  was  furious  at  the  abominable  injustice 
of  which  he  was  the  victim.  In  spite  of  his  horror  of  the 
free  press,  he  printed  a  Letter  to  a  Friend.  Then  he  wrote 
to  the  Emperor,  assuring  his  Majesty  that  his  ministers 
were  playing  him  false,  and  were  no  better  than  Jacobins. 
This  done,  he  betook  himself  sadly  back  to  his  home  at 
Grianta.  One  consolation  he  possessed.  After  the  downfall 
of  Napoleon  certain  powerful  individuals  at  Milan  had  or- 
ganized a  brutal  attack  on  Count  Prina,  a  man  of  first-class 
worth,  who  had  acted  as  minister  in  the  service  of  the  King 
of  Italy.  Pietranera  risked  his  own  life  to  save  that  of  the  un- 
happy man,  who  was  thrashed  to  death  with  umbrellas,  and 
lingered  in  agony  for  five  hours.  If  a  certain  priest,  the 
Marchese  del  Dongo's  own  confessor,  had  chosen  to  open 
the  iron  gate  of  the  Church  of  San  Giovanni,  in  front  of 
which  Prina  had  been  dragged  (and,  indeed,  he  had  at  one 
moment  been  left  lying  in  the  gutter  running  along  the 
middle  of  the  street),  the  victim  might  have  been  saved. 
But  the  cleric  scornfully  refused  to  unlock  the  gate,  and 
within  six  months  his  patron  enjoyed  the  happiness  of  se- 
curing him  a  handsome  piece  of  preferment. 

The  marchese  detested  his  brother-in-law.  Count  Pietra- 
nera, who,  though  his  yearly  income  did  not  amount  to 
fifty  louis,  dared  to  be  fairly  merry,  ventured  to  cling  faith- 
fully to  that  which  he  had  loved  all  his  life,  and  was  so  in- 
solent as  to  proclaim  that  spirit  of  impersonal  justice  which 
Del  Dongo  was  pleased  to  define  as  vile  Jacobinism.  The 
count  had  refused  to  enter  the  Austrian  service.  The 
attention  of  the  authorities  was  drawn  to  this  refusal  on  his 
part,  and  a  few  months  after  the  death  of  Prina  the  same 
men  who  had  paid  for  his  assassination  procured  an  order 
for  the  imprisonment  of  General  Pietranera.    Upon  this,  his 

19 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

wife  sent  for  a  passport  and  ordered  post  horses  to  take  her 
to  Vienna,  so  that  she  might  tell  the  Emperor  the  truth. 
Prina's  assassins  took  fright,  and  at  midnight,  just  one  hour 
before  the  countess  was  to  have  started  for  Vienna,  one  of 
them,  a  cousin  of  her  own,  brought  her  the  order  for  her 
husband's  release.  The  following  morning  the  Austrian 
general  sent  for  Count  Pietranera,  received  him  with  every 
possible  respect,  and  assured  him  that  his  retiring  pension 
would  shortly  be  paid  on  the  most  satisfactory  scale.  The 
worthy  General  Bubna,  who  was  both  a  clever  and  a  kind- 
hearted  man,  looked  thoroughly  ashamed  of  Prina's  mur- 
der and  the  count's  imprisonment. 

After  this  angry  squall  had  blown  over,  calmed  by 
Countess  Pietranera's  firmness,  the  couple  lived  in  tolerable 
comfort  on  the  retiring  pension,  which,  thanks  to  General 
Bubna's  influence,  was  shortly  granted  them. 

It  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  that  for  five  or  six  years 
previously  the  countess  had  lived  on  terms  of  great  friend- 
ship with  an  exceedingly  wealthy  young  man,  who  was  also 
her  husband's  intimate  friend,  and  who  placed  the  finest  pair 
of  English  horses  then  to  be  seen  at  Milan,  his  box  at  the 
Scala  Theatre,  and  his  country  house  entirely  at  their  serv- 
ice. But  the  count  was  conscious  of  his  own  valour;  he 
had  a  generous  soul,  he  was  easily  moved  to  anger,  and 
on  such  occasions  indulged  in  somewhat  unusual  behaviour. 
He  was  out  hunting  one  day  with  some  young  men,  when 
one  of  them,  who  had  served  under  a  different  flag,  ventured 
on  some  joke  concerning  the  courage  of  the  soldiers  of 
the  Cisalpine  Republic.  The  count  boxed  his  ears,  there 
was  a  fracas  then  and  there,  and  Pietranera,  whose  opinion 
found  no  support  among  the  company  present,  was  killed. 
This  duel,  if  so  it  could  be  called,  made  a  great  stir;  the 
persons  concerned  in  it  found  it  more  prudent  to  journey 
into  Switzerland. 

That  ridiculous  kind  of  courage  which  men  entitle  resig- 
nation— the  courage  of  the  fool,  who  allows  himself  to  be 
hanged  without  opening  his  lips — was  not  a  quality  pos- 
sessed by  the  countess.  In  her  rage  at  her  husband's  death 
she  would  have  had  Limercati,  the  wealthy  young  man  who 

20 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

was  her  faithful  adorer,  instantly  take  his  way  to  Switzer- 
land, and  there  punish  Pietranera's  murderer  either  with  a 
rifle  bullet  or  with  a  hearty  cuffing.  But  Limercati  regarded 
the  plan  as  simply  ridiculous,  and  forthwith  the  countess 
realized  that,  in  her  case,  love  had  been  killed  by  scorn. 

She  grew  kinder  than  ever  to  Limercati.  Her  aim  was 
to  rekindle  his  love,  and  that  done,  to  forsake  him  and  leave 
him  in  despair.  To  explain  this  plan  of  vengeance  to  the 
French  mind,  I  should  say  that  in  Milan,  a  country  far 
distant  from  our  own,  love  does  still  drive  men  to  despair. 
The  countess,  whose  beauty,  heightened  by  her  mourning 
robes,  eclipsed  that  of  all  her  rivals,  set  herself  to  coquette 
with  the  best-born  young  men  of  the  city,  and  one  of  them, 

Count  N ,  who  had  always  said  that  Limercati's  qualities 

struck  him  as  being  too  heavy  and  stiff  to  attract  so  bril- 
liant a  woman,  fell  desperately  in  love  with  her.  Then  she 
wrote  to  Limercati : 

"  Would  you  like  to  behave,  for  once,  like  a  clever  man? 

Imagine  that  you  have  never  known  me.    I  am,  with  a  touch 

of  scorn,  perhaps,         ^ 

Your  very  humble  servant, 

"  GiNA    PlETRANERA." 

When  Limercati  received  this  note  he  departed  to  one 
of  his  country  houses ;  his  passion  blazed,  he  lost  his  head, 
and  talked  of  shooting  himself — an  unusual  course  in  coun- 
tries which  acknowledge  the  existence  of  a  hell. 

The  very  morning  after  his  arrival  in  the  country  he 
wrote  to  the  countess  to  oflfer  her  his  hand  and  his  two 
hundred  thousand  francs  a  year.     She  sent  him  back  his 

letter,  with  the  seal  unbroken,  by  Count  N 's  groom; 

whereupon  Limercati  spent  three  years  on  his  estates,  com- 
ing back  to  Milan  every  two  months,  but  never  finding  cour- 
age to  stay  there,  and  boring  all  his  friends  with  the  story  of 
his  passionate  adoration  of  the  lady  and  the  circumstantial 
recital  of  the  favour  she  had  formerly  shown  him.     In  the 

earlier  months  of  this  period  he  added  that  Count  N 

would  ruin  her,  and  that  she  dishonoured  herself  by  con- 
tracting such  an  intimacy. 

21 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  countess  had  no  love  of  any- 
kind  for  N ,  and  of  this  fact  she  apprised  him  as  soon 

as  she  was  quite  certain  of  Limercati's  despair.  The  count, 
who  knew  the  world,  only  begged  her  not  to  divulge 
the  sad  truth  she  had  confided  to  him.  "  If,"  he  added, 
"  you  will  have  the  extreme  kindness  to  continue  receiv- 
ing me  with  all  the  external  distinctions  generally  granted 
to  the  reigning  lover,  I  may,  perhaps,  attain  a  suitable 
position." 

After  this  heroic  declaration  the  countess  would  make 

no  further  use  of  Count  N 's  horses  and  opera  box.    But 

for  fifteen  years  she  had  been  accustomed  to  a  life  of  the 
greatest  ease.  She  was  now  driven  to  solve  the  difficult,  or 
rather  impossible,  problem  of  living  at  Milan  on  a  yearly 
pension  of  fifteen  hundred  francs.  She  quitted  her  palace, 
hired  two  fifth-floor  rooms,  and  dismissed  all  her  servants, 
even  to  her  maid,  whom  she  replaced  by  a  poor  old  char- 
woman. The  sacrifice  was  really  less  heroic  and  less  painful 
than  it  appears.  No  ridicule  attaches  to  poverty  in  Milan, 
and  therefore  people  do  not  shrink  from  it  in  terror,  as  the 
worst  of  all  possible  evils.  After  some  months  spent  in  this 
proud  penury,  bombarded  by  perpetual  letters  from  Limer- 

cati,  and  even  from  Count  N ,  who  also  desired  to  marry 

her,  it  came  to  pass  that  the  Marchese  del  Dongo,  whose 
stinginess  was  usually  abominable,  was  struck  by  the  no- 
tion that  his  own  enemies  might  perhaps  be  rejoicing  over 
his  sister's  sufferings.  What !  Was  a  Del  Dongo  to  be  re- 
duced to  existing  on  the  pension  granted  by  the  Viennese 
court,  against  which  he  had  so  great  a  grievance,  to  its  gen- 
erals' widows? 

He  wrote  that  an  apartment  and  an  income  worthy  of 
his  sister  awaited  her  at  Grianta.  The  versatile-minded 
countess  welcomed  the  idea  of  this  new  life  with  enthusiasm. 
It  was  twenty  years  since  she  had  lived  in  the  venerable  pile 
which  rose  so  proudly  among  the  old  chestnut  trees  planted 
in  the  days  of  the  Sforzas.  "  There,"  she  reflected,  "  I  shall 
find  peace ;  and  at  my  age,  is  that  not  happiness  ?  (As  she 
had  arrived  at  the  age  of  one-and-thirty,  she  believed  that 
the  hour  of  her  retirement  had  struck.)     "  I  shall  find  a 

22 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

happy  and  peaceful  life  at  last,  on  the  shores  of  the  noble 
lake  beside  which  I  was  born." 

Whether  she  was  mistaken  I  know  not,  but  it  is  certain 
that  this  eager-hearted  creature,  who  had  just  so  unhesitat- 
ingly refused  two  huge  fortunes,  carried  happiness  with  her 
into  the  Castle  of  Grianta.  Her  two  nieces  were  beside 
themselves  with  delight.  "  You  have  brought  the  beautiful 
days  of  my  youth  back  to  me !  "  said  the  marchesa  as  she 
kissed  her,  "  The  night  before  you  arrived  I  felt  a  hundred 
years  old." 

In  Fabrizio's  company  the  countess  went  about  re- 
visiting all  those  enchanting  spots  near  Grianta  which 
travellers  have  made  so  famous :  the  Villa  Melzi,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  lake,  opposite  the  castle,  and  one  of  the 
chief  objects  in  the  view  therefrom ;  the  sacred  wood  of 
the  Sfondrata ;  and  the  bold  promontory  which  divides  the 
branches  of  the  lake,  that  of  Como,  so  rich  in  its  beauty,  and 
that  which  runs  toward  Lecco,  of  aspect  far  more  severe — 
a  sublime  and  graceful  prospect,  equalled,  perhaps,  but  not 
surpassed,  by  the  most  famous  view  in  all  the  world,  that 
of  the  Bay  of  Naples.  The  countess  found  the  most  ex- 
quisite delight  in  calling  up  memories  of  her  early  days, 
and  comparing  them  with  her  present  sensations.  "  The 
Lake  of  Como,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  is  not  hemmed  in, 
like  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  by  great  tracts  of  land,  carefully 
hedged  and  cultivated  on  the  best  system,  reminding  one 
of  money  and  speculation.  Here,  on  every  side,  I  see 
hills  of  unequal  height,  covered  with  clumps  of  trees,  grow- 
ing as  chance  has  scattered  them,  and  which  have  not  yet 
been  ruined,  and  forced  to  bring  in  an  income,  by  the  hand 
of  man.  Amid  these  hills,  with  their  beautiful  shapes  and 
their  curious  slopes  that  drop  toward  the  lake,  I  can  carry 
on  all  the  illusions  of  the  descriptions  of  Tasso  and  Ariosto. 
It  is  all  noble  and  tender,  it  all  speaks  of  love ;  nothing  re- 
calls the  hideousness  of  civilization.  The  villages  set  half- 
way up  the  hills  are  sheltered  by  great  trees,  and  above 
the  tree  tops  rise  the  charming  outlines  of  their  pretty 
church  spires.  Where  some  little  field,  fifty  paces  wide, 
shows  itself  here  and  there  among  the  chestnuts  and  wild- 

23 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

cherry  trees  my  pleased  eye  notes  plants  of  more  vigor- 
ous and  willing  growth  than  can  be  seen  elsewhere.  Be- 
yond the  hills,  on  whose  deserted  crests  a  happy  hermit 
existence  might  be  spent,  the  wondering  eye  rests  on  the 
Alpine  peaks,  covered  with  eternal  snows,  and  their  stern 
severity  reminds  one  sufficiently  of  life's  misfortunes,  to 
increase  one's  sense  of  present  delight.  The  imagination 
is  stirred  by  the  distant  sound  of  the  church  bells  of  some 
little  village  hidden  among  the  trees.  Their  tone  softens  as 
it  floats  over  the  water,  with  a  touch  of  gentle  melancholy 
and  resignation,  which  seems  to  say,  '  Life  slips  by.  Do 
not,  then,  look  so  coldly  on  the  happiness  that  comes  to 
you.    Make  haste  to  enjoy.'  " 

The  influence  of  these  enchanting  spots,  unequalled  on 
earth  for  loveliness,  made  the  countess  feel  a  girl  once 
more.  She  could  not  conceive  how  she  had  been  able  to 
spend  so  many  years  without  returning  to  the  lake.  "  Can 
it  be,"  she  wondered,  "  that  true  happiness  belongs  to  the 
beginning  of  old  age  ?  "  She  purchased  a  boat,  and  adorned 
it  with  her  own  hands,  assisted  by  Fabrizio  and  the  mar- 
chesa,  for  no  money  was  to  be  had,  though  the  household 
was  kept  up  with  the  utmost  splendour.  Since  his  fall  the 
Marchese  del  Dongo  had  doubled  his  magnificence.  For 
instance,  to  gain  ten  paces  of  ground  on  the  shore  of  the 
lake,  close  to  the  famous  avenue  of  plane  trees  leading 
toward  Cadenabbia,  he  was  building  an  embankment  which 
was  to  cost  eighty  thousand  francs.  At  the  end  of  this  em- 
bankment was  rising  a  chapel,  constructed  entirely  of  enor- 
mous blocks  of  granite,  after  drawings  by  the  celebrated 
Cagnola,  and  within  the  chapel,  Marchesi,  the  fashionable 
Milanese  sculptor,  was  erecting  a  tomb  on  which  the  noble 
deeds  of  the  marchese's  ancestors  were  to  be  represented  in 
numerous  bas-reliefs. 

Fabrizio's  elder  brother,  the  Marchesino  Ascanio,  tried 
to  join  the  ladies  in  their  expeditions,  but  his  aunt  splashed 
water  over  his  powdered  head,  and  was  forever  playing 
some  fresh  prank  on  his  solemnity.  At  last  he  relieved  the 
merry  party  of  the  sight  of  his  heavy  sallow  countenance. 
They  dared  not  laugh  when  he  was  present,  feeling  that  he 

24 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

was  the  spy  of  the  marchese,  his  father,  and  that  it  was 
wise  to  keep  on  terms  with  the  stern  despot,  who  had 
never  recovered  his  temper  since  his  forced  resignation. 

Ascanio  swore  to  be  avenged  on  Fabrizio. 

One  day  there  was  a  storm,  and  the  boat  was  in  some 
danger.  Though  money  was  scarce  enough,  the  two  boat- 
men were  Hberally  bribed  to  prevent  their  saying  anything 
to  the  marchese,  who  was  very  angry  already  because  his 
daughters  had  been  taken  out.  Then  came  a  second  hur- 
ricane. On  this  beautiful  lake  storms  are  both  terrible  and 
unexpected.  Violent  squalls  sweep  suddenly  down  the 
mountain  gorges  on  opposite  sides  of  the  shore,  and  battle 
over  the  water.  This  time,  in  the  midst  of  the  whirlwind 
and  the  thunderclaps,  the  countess  insisted  on  landing ;  she 
declared  that  if  she  could  stand  on  a  lonely  rock,  as  large  as  a 
small  room,  which  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  lake,  she  would 
enjoy  a  strange  spectacle,  and  see  her  stronghold  lashed 
on  every  side  by  the  furious  waves.  But,  as  she  sprang  from 
the  boat,  she  fell  into  the  water.  Fabrizio  plunged  in  after 
her,  and  they  were  both  carried  a  considerable  distance. 
Drowning  is  certainly  not  an  attractive  death,  but  boredom, 
at  all  events,  fled  astonished  from  the  feudal  castle.  The 
countess  had  fallen  in  love  with  Father  Blanes's  primitive 
qualities,  and  astrological  studies.  The  little  money  re- 
maining to  her  after  the  purchase  of  her  boat  had  been 
spent  on  a  small  second-hand  telescope,  and  almost  every 
night  she  mounted,  with  Fabrizio  and  her  nieces,  to  the  top 
of  one  of  the  Gothic  towers  of  the  castle.  Fabrizio  was  the 
learned  member  of  the  party,  which  would  thus  spend  sev- 
eral very  cheerful  hours,  far  from  prying  eyes. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  there  were  days  during 
which  the  countess  never  spoke  to  anybody,  and  might  be 
seen  walking  up  and  down  under  the  great  chestnut  trees, 
plunged  in  gloomy  reverie.  She  was  too  clever  a  woman 
not  to  suffer,  now  and  then,  from  the  weariness  of  never 
being  able  to  exchange  an  idea.  But  the  next  day  she 
would  be  laughing  again,  as  she  had  laughed  the  day  before. 
It  was  the  lamentations  of  her  sister-in-law  which  occasion- 
ally cast  a  gloom  over  her  naturally  elastic  nature.    "  Are  we 

25 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

doomed  to  spend  all  the  youth  left  to  us  in  this  dreary 
house  ? "  the  marchesa  would  cry.  Before  the  arrival  of 
the  countess  she  had  not  even  had  courage  to  feel  such  re- 
pinings. 

Thus  the  winter  of  1814  to  181 5  wore  on.  Twice,  in 
spite  of  her  poverty,  did  the  countess  spend  a  few  days  in 
Milan.  She  went  to  see  a  magnificent  ballet  by  Vigano, 
produced  at  the  Scala,  and  the  marchese  did  not  forbid  his 
wife  to  accompany  her  sister-in-law.  The  quarterly  pay- 
ments of  the  little  pension  were  drawn,  and  it  was  the  poor 
widow  of  the  Cisalpine  general  who  lent  a  few  sequins 
to  the  wealthy  Marchesa  del  Dongo.  These  expeditions 
were  delightful ;  the  ladies  invited  their  old  friends  to  din- 
ner, and  consoled  themselves  by  laughing  at  everything,  like 
real  children.  Their  light-hearted  Italian  gaiety  helped 
them  to  forget  the  melancholy  gloom  which  the  marchese 
and  his  elder  son  shed  over  everything  at  Grianta.  Fabrizio, 
then  hardly  sixteen  years  old,  represented  the  head  of  the 
family  in  a  very  satisfactory  manner. 

On  the  17th  of  March,  1815,  the  ladies,  very  lately  re- 
turned from  a  delightful  little  trip  to  Milan,  were  walking 
up  and  down  under  the  fine  avenue  of  plane  trees  which 
had  lately  been  extended  down  to  the  very  edge  of  the  lake, 
A  boat  appeared,  coming  from  the  direction  of  Como,  ancl 
made  some  peculiar  signals.  One  of  the  marchese's  agents 
sprang  ashore.  Napoleon  had  just  landed  in  the  Gulf  oi 
Juan!  Europe  in  general  was  simple  enough  to  be  sur- 
prised at  this  event,  which  did  not  astonish  the  Marchese 
del  Dongo.  He  wrote  his  sovereign  a  letter  full  of  heart- 
felt expressions  of  devotion,  placed  his  talents  and  several 
millions  of  money  at  his  service,  and  reaflfirmed  that  his 
ministers  were  all  Jacobins,  and  in  league  with  the  Parisian 
leaders. 

On  the  8th  of  March,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
the  marchese,  adorned  with  all  his  insignia,  was  writing 
the  rough  draft  of  a  third  political  despatch  from  his  son's 
dictation.  Solemnly  he  transcribed  it  in  his  large,  care- 
ful handwriting,  on  paper  the  watermark  of  which  bore 
his   sovereign's   effigy.     At   that   very   moment   Fabrizio 

26 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

was  entering  the  presence  of  his  aunt,  the  Countess  Pie- 
tranera. 

"  I  am  off !  "  he  cried.  "  I  am  going  to  join  the  Em- 
peror !  He  is  King  of  Italy  as  well !  How  he  loved  your 
husband!  I  shall  go  through  Switzerland.  Last  night  my 
friend  Vasi,  the  barometer  dealer  at  Menagio,  gave  me  his 
passport.  Now  do  you  give  me  a  few  napoleons,  for  I  have 
only  two  of  my  own.     But  if  it  comes  to  that,  I'll  walk !  " 

The  countess  was  weeping  with  terror  and  delight. 
"  Good  God ! "  she  cried,  as  she  seized  Fabrizio's  hands, 
"  how  did  such  an  idea  come  into  your  head  ?  " 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  and  from  the  linen  chest,  where 
it  had  been  carefully  concealed,  took  a  little  bead-embroid- 
ered purse,  containing  all  her  earthly  wealth. 

"  Take  it,"  she  said  to  her  nephew,  "  but  in  God's  name 
do  not  get  yourself  killed!  What  would  be  left  to  your 
unhappy  mother  and  to  me  if  you  were  taken  from  us  ?  As 
for  Napoleon's  success,  that,  my  poor  child,  is  impossible. 
Did  not  yt)u  hear  the  story,  a  week  ago,  when  we  were  at 
Milan,  of  the  three-and-twenty  well-laid  plots  for  his  assas- 
sination which  he  only  escaped  by  a  miracle  ?  And  in  those 
days  he  was  all  powerful !  And  you  have  seen  it  is  not  the 
will  to  destroy  him  which  our  enemies  lack.  France  has 
been  nothing  since  he  left  her ! " 

The  voice  of  the  countess  trembled  with  the  liveliest 
emotion  as  she  spoke  to  Fabrizio  of  Napoleon's  future  fate. 
"  When  I  consent  to  your  going  to  join  them,"  she  said,  '*  I 
sacrifice,  for  his  sake,  what  I  hold  dearest  in  this  world  I " 
Fabrizio's  eyes  grew  moist,  and  his  tears  fell  as  he  embraced 
his  aunt.  But  not  for  an  instant  did  he  waver  in  his  deter- 
mination to  depart.  He  eagerly  explained  to  this  beloved 
friend  the  reasons  which  had  decided  him — reasons  which 
we  take  the  liberty  of  thinking  somewhat  comical. 

"  Yesterday  evening,  at  seven  minutes  to  six  o'clock,  we 
were  walking,  as  you  know,  on  the  shores  of  the  lake,  under 
the  plane  trees,  below  the  Casa  Sommariva,  and  our  faces 
were  turned  southward.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  noticed, 
in  the  far  distance,  the  boat  from  Como  which  was  bearing 
the  great  news  to  us.    As  I  watched  it,  without  a  thought 

27 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

of  the  Emperor,  and  simply  envying  the  fate  of  those  who 
had  an  opportunity  of  travelling,  I  was  suddenly  over- 
whelmed by  a  feeling  of  deep  emotion.  The  boat  had 
touched  the  shore,  and  the  agent,  after  whispering  some- 
thing to  my  father,  who  had  changed  colour,  had  taken  us 
aside  to  inform  us  of  the  terrible  news.  I  turned  toward 
the  lake  with  the  simple  object  of  hiding  the  tears  of  joy 
with  which  my  eyes  were  swimming.  Suddenly,  on  my 
right,  and  at  an  immense  height,  I  perceived  an  eagle.  Na- 
poleon's own  bird;  it  was  winging  its  majestic  way  toward 
Switzerland,  and  consequently  toward  Paris.  '  And  I,  too,' 
said  I  to  myself  instantly,  *  will  cross  Switzerland,  swiftly 
as  an  eagle,  and  will  offer  that  great  man  a  very  little  thing 
indeed — but  still  all  that  I  have  to  offer — the  help  of  my 
feeble  arm !  He  would  fain  have  given  us  a  fatherland,  and 
he  loved  my  uncle ! '  That  instant,  while  I  yet  watched  the 
eagle,  by  some  strange  charm,  my  tears  were  dried,  and 
the  proof  that  my  idea  came  from  above  is  that  at  that  very 
moment,  and  without  hesitation,  my  resolve  was  taken,  and 
the  method  of  carrying  out  the  journey  became  clear  to  me. 
In  a  flash  all  the  melancholy  which,  as  you  know,  poisons 
my  life,  especially  on  Sundays,  was  swept  away  as  by  some 
divine  breath.  I  saw  the  great  figure  of  Italy  rising  out 
of  the  mire  into  which  the  Germans  have  cast  her,  and 
stretching  out  her  wounded  arms,  on  which  the  chains  still 
hung,  towards  her  king  and  liberator.  '  And  I  too,'  I  mur- 
mured, '  the  son,  as  yet  unknown,  of  that  unhappy  mother, 
I  will  depart,  and  I  will  die  or  win  victory  beside  that  Man 
of  Fate,  who  would  have  cleansed  us  from  the  scorn  cast 
on  us  by  the  vilest  and  most  enslaved  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Europe ! ' 

"  You  know,"  he  added  in  a  lower  voice,  drawing  closer 
to  the  countess,  and  as  he  spoke  he  fixed  great  flashing  eyes 
upon  her,  "  you  know  the  young  chestnut  tree  which  my 
mother  planted  with  her  own  hands  the  winter  I  was  born, 
beside  the  deep  pool  in  our  forest,  two  leagues  off  ?  Before 
I  would  do  anything  I  went  to  see  it.  *  The  spring  is  not 
far  advanced,'  said  I  to  myself ;  '  well,  if  there  are  leaves  on 
my  tree,  that  will  be  a  sign  for  me,  and  I  too  must  cast 

28 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

off  the  torpor  in  which  I  languish  in  this  cold  and  dreary 
house.  Are  not  these  old  blackened  walls — the  symbols 
now,  and  once  the  strongholds,  of  despotism — a  true  picture 
of  winter  and  its  dreariness  ?  To  me  they  are  what  winter  is 
to  my  tree.' 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  Gina  ?  At  half-past  seven  yester- 
day evening  I  had  reached  my  chestnut  tree.  There  were 
leaves  upon  it — pretty  little  leaves  of  a  fair  size  already!  I 
kissed  them,  without  hurting  them,  carefully  turned  the  soil 
round  the  beloved  tree,  and  then,  in  a  fresh  transport,  crossed 
the  mountain  and  reached  Menagio.  A  passport  was  indis- 
pensable, if  I  was  to  get  into  Switzerland.  The  hours  had 
flown,  and  it  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  I  reached 
Vasi's  door.  I  expected  to  have  to  knock  for  long  before  I 
could  rouse  him;  but  he  was  sitting  up  with  three  of  his 
friends.  At  my  very  first  word,  '  You  are  going  to  Napo- 
leon ! '  he  cried,  and  fell  upon  my  neck ;  the  others,  too,  em- 
braced me  joyfully.    *  Why  am  I  married  ?  '  cried  one." 

The  countess  had  grown  pensive;  she  thought  it  her 
duty  to  put  forward  some  objections.  If  he  had  possessed 
the  smallest  experience  Fabrizio  would  have  perceived  that 
she  herself  had  no  faith  in  the  excellent  reasons  she  hastened 
to  lay  before  him.  But  though  experience  was  lacking,  he 
had  plenty  of  resolution,  and  would  not  even  condescend  to 
listen  to  her  expostulations.  Before  long  the  countess  con- 
fined herself  to  obtaining  a  promise  that  at  all  events  his 
mother  should  be  informed  of  his  plan. 

"  She  will  tell  my  sisters,  and  those  women  will  betray 
me  unconsciously ! "  cried  Fabrizio,  with  a  sort  of  heroic 
arrogance. 

"  Speak  more  respectfully,"  said  the  countess,  smiling 
through  her  tears,  "  of  the  sex  which  will  make  your  for- 
tune. For  men  will  never  like  you — you  are  too  impulsive 
to  please  prosaic  beings !  " 

When  the  marchesa  was  made  acquainted  with  her  son's 
strange  project  she  burst  into  tears.  His  heroism  did  not 
appeal  to  her,  and  she  did  everything  in  her  power  to  dis- 
suade him.  But  she  was  soon  convinced  that  nothing  but 
prison  walls  would  prevent  him  from  starting,  and  gave  him 

3g 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

what  little  money  she  had  of  her  own.  Then  she  recollected 
that  she  had  in  her  possession  eight  or  ten  small  diamonds, 
worth  about  ten  thousand  francs,  given  her  the  night  be- 
fore by  the  marchese,  so  that  she  might  have  them  reset 
the  next  time  she  went  to  Milan.  Fabrizio  returned  the 
poor  ladies  the  contents  of  their  slender  purses,  and  his 
sisters  entered  their  mother's  room  while  the  countess  was 
sewing  the  diamonds  into  our  hero's  travelling  coat.  They 
were  so  enthusiastic  over  his  plan,  and  embraced  him  with 
such  noisy  delight,  that  he  snatched  up  a  few  diamonds, 
which  had  not  yet  been  hidden  in  his  clothes,  and  insisted 
on  starting  oflf  at  once. 

"  You  will  betray  me  without  knowing  it !  "  he  said  to 
his  sisters,  "  and  as  I  have  all  this  money  I  need  not  take 
clothes — I  shall  find  them  wherever  I  go."  He  kissed  his 
loved  ones,  and  departed  that  instant,  without  even  going 
back  to  his  room.  So  rapidly  did  he  walk,  in  his  terror  of 
being  pursued  by  mounted  men,  that  he  reached  Lugano 
that  very  evening.  He  was  safe,  by  God's  mercy,  in  a 
Swiss  town,  and  no  longer  feared  that  gendarmes  in  his 
father's  pay  might  lay  violent  hands  on  him  in  the  lonely 
road.  From  Lugano  he  wrote  a  fine  letter  to  the  marchese, 
a  childish  performance  which  increased  that  gentleman's 
fury.  Then  he  took  horse,  crossed  the  St.  Gothard,  trav- 
elled rapidly,  and  entered  France  by  Pontarlier.  The  Em- 
peror was  in  Paris,  and  in  Paris  Fabrizio's  misfortunes 
began.  He  had  started  with  the  firm  intention  of  getting 
speech  with  the  Emperor,  the  idea  that  this  might  be  difficult 
never  entering  his  head.  At  Milan  he  had  seen  Prince  Eu- 
gene a  dozen  times  a  day,  and  could  have  spoken  to  him  each 
time  if  he  would.  In  Paris  he  went  every  day  of  his  life 
to  watch  the  Emperor  review  his  troops  in  the  court  of  the 
Tuileries,  but  never  could  get  near  him.  Our  hero  be- 
lieved every  Frenchman  must  be  as  deeply  moved  as  he 
was  himself  by  the  extreme  danger  in  which  the  country 
stood.  At  the  table  of  the  hotel  in  which  he  lived,  he  made 
no  secret  of  his  plans  or  his  devotion.  He  found  himself 
surrounded  by  young  men  of  agfreeable  manners,  and  still 
more  enthusiastic  than  himself,  who  succeeded,  before  many 

30 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

days  were  passed,  in  relieving  him  of  every  penny  he  pos- 
sessed. Fortunately,  and  out  of  sheer  modesty,  he  had  not 
mentioned  the  diamonds  given  him  by  his  mother.  One 
morning,  when,  after  a  night's  orgie,  it  became  quite  clear 
to  him  that  he  had  been  robbed,  he  bought  himself  two 
fine  horses,  engaged  an  old  soldier,  one  of  the  horse  dealer's 
grooms,  as  his  servant,  and,  overflowing  with  scorn  for  the 
young  Parisians  who  talked  so  fine,  started  to  join  the  army. 
He  had  no  information  save  that  it  was  concentrating  near 
Maubeuge.  Hardly  had  he  reached  the  frontier,  when  it 
struck  him  as  absurd  that  he  should  stay  indoors  and  warm 
himself  at  a  good  fire  while  soldiers  were  bivouacking  in 
the  open  air.  In  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of  his  servant, 
who  was  a  sensible  fellow,  he  insisted,  in  the  most  imprudent 
manner,  on  joining  the  military  bivouac  on  the  farthest  edge 
of  the  frontier  toward  Belgium.  He  had  hardly  reached 
the  first  battalion,  lying  beside  the  road,  when  the  soldiers 
began  to  stare  at  the  young  civilian,  whose  dress  had  not 
a  touch  of  uniform  about  it.  Night  was  falling,  and  the 
wind  was  very  cold.  Fabrizio  drew  near  to  a  fire,  and 
offered  to  pay  for  leave  to  sit  by  it.  The  soldiers  looked  at 
each  other  in  astonishment,  especially  at  this  oflfer  of  pay, 
but  made  room  for  him  good-naturedly,  and  his  servant 
extemporized  a  shelter  for  him.  But  an  hour  later,  when 
the  adjutant  of  the  regiment  passed  within  hail  of  the  biv- 
ouac, the  soldiers  reported  the  arrival  of  the  stranger  who 
talked  bad  French.  The  adjutant  questioned  Fabrizio,  who 
told  him  of  his  worship  for  the  Emperor  in  an  accent  of  the 
most  doubtful  description,  whereupon  the  officer  requested 
that  he  would  accompany  him  to  the  colonel,  who  was  quar- 
tered in  a  neighbouring  farm.  Fabrizio's  servant  at  once 
brought  up  the  two  horses.  The  sight  of  them  seemed  to 
produce  such  an  effect  upon  the  noncommissioned  officer 
that  he  immediately  changed  his  mind,  and  began  to  ques- 
tion the  servant  as  well.  The  man,  an  old  soldier,  suspected 
his  interlocutor's  plan  of  campaign,  and  spoke  of  his  mas- 
ter's influence  in  high  quarters,  adding  that  his  fine  horses 
could  not  easily  be  taken  from  him.  Instantly,  at  a  sign 
from  the  adjutant,  one  soldier  seized  him  by  the  collar,  an- 

3» 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

other  took  charge  of  the  horses,  and  Fabrizio  was  sternly 
ordered  to  follow  his  captor  and  hold  his  tongue. 

After  making  him  march  a  good  league  through  dark- 
ness that  seemed  all  the  blacker  by  contrast  with  the  bivouac 
fires,  which  lighted  up  the  horizon  on  every  side,  the  ad- 
jutant handed  Fabrizio  over  to  an  officer  of  gendarmerie, 
who  gravely  demanded  his  papers.  Fabrizio  produced  his 
passport,  which  described  him  as  a  "  dealer  in  barometers, 
travelling  with  his  merchandise." 

"  What  fools  they  are !  "  cried  the  officer ;  "  this  really  is 
too  much ! " 

He  questioned  our  hero,  who  talked  about  the  Emperor 
and  liberty  in  terms  of  the  most  ardent  and  enthusiastic  de- 
scription; whereupon  the  officer  fell  into  fits  of  laughter. 
"  Upon  my  soul !  "  he  cried,  "  they  are  anything  but  clever ; 
to  send  us  greenhorns  such  as  you  is  a  little  too  much, 
really ! "  And  in  spite  of  everything  Fabrizio  could  say, 
and  his  desperate  assurances  that  he  really  was  not  a  dealer 

in  barometers,  he  was  ordered  to  the  prison  of  B ,  a 

small  town  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  he  arrived  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  bursting  with  anger,  and  half  dead 
with  fatigue. 

Here  he  remained,  astonished,  first  of  all,  and  then 
furious,  and  utterly  unable  to  understand  what  had  hap- 
pened, for  thirty-three  long  days.  He  wrote  letter  after 
letter  to  the  commandant  of  the  fortress,  the  jailer's  wife,  a 
handsome  Flemish  woman  of  six-and-thirty,  undertaking  to 
deliver  them;  but  as  she  had  no  desire  whatever  to  see  so 
good-looking  a  young  fellow  shot,  and  as,  moreover,  he 
paid  her  well,  she  invariably  put  his  letters  in  the  fire.  Very 
late  at  night  she  would  condescend  to  come  to  listen  to 
his  complaints — she  had  informed  her  husband  that  the  sim- 
pleton had  money,  whereupon  that  prudent  functionary  had 
given  her  carte  blanche.  She  availed  herself  of  his  permis- 
sion, and  gleaned  several  gold  pieces;  for  the  adjutant 
had  only  taken  the  horses,  and  the  police  officer  had  confis- 
cated nothing  at  all.  One  fine  afternoon  Fabrizio  caught 
the  sound  of  a  heavy  though  distant  cannonade.  Fighting 
had  begun  at  last !    His  heart  thumped  with  impatience.    He 

32 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

heard  a  great  deal  of  noise,  too,  in  the  streets.  An  important 
miHtary  movement  was,  in  fact,  in  course  of  execution. 
Three  divisions  were  marching  through  the  town.  When 
the  jailer's  wife  came  to  share  his  sorrows,  at  about  eleven 
o'clock  that  night,  Fabrizio  made  himself  even  more  agree- 
able than  usual.  Then,  taking  her  hands  in  his,  he  said: 
"  Help  me  to  get  out !  I  swear  on  my  honour  I'll  come 
back  to  prison  as  soon  as  the  fighting  is  over." 

"  That's  all  gammon !  "  she  replied.  "  Have  you  any 
quibus  (cash)  ? "  He  looked  anxious,  not  understanding 
what  the  word  quibus  meant.  The  woman,  seeing  his  ex- 
pression, concluded  his  funds  were  running  low,  and,  in- 
stead of  talking  about  gold  napoleons,  as  she  had  intended, 
only  mentioned  francs. 

"  Listen  1 "  she  said.  "  If  you  can  raise  a  hundred  francs, 
I  will  blind  both  eyes  of  the  corporal  who  will  relieve  the 
guard  to-night,  with  a  double  napoleon.  Then  he  will  not 
see  you  get  out  of  prison,  and  if  his  regiment  is  to  be  off 
during  the  day,  he  will  make  no  difficulties."  The  bargain 
was  soon  struck;  the  woman  even  agreed  to  hide  Fabrizio 
in  her  own  room,  out  of  which  it  would  be  easier  for  him 
to  slip  in  the  early  morning. 

The  next  day,  before  dawn,  she  said  to  our  hero,  and 
there  was  real  feeling  in  her  tone :  "  My  dear  boy,  you  are 
very  young  to  ply  this  horrible  trade  of  yours.  Believe 
me,  don't  begin  it  again !  " 

"  What !  "  repeated  Fabrizio.  "  Is  it  wicked,  then,  to 
want  to  fight  for  one's  own  country  ?  " 

"  Enough !  But  always  remember  I  have  saved  your 
life.  Your  case  was  a  clear  one.  You  would  certainly 
have  been  shot.  But  never  tell  anybody,  for  we  should 
lose  our  place,  my  husband  and  I.  And,  above  all,  never 
repeat  your  silly  tale  about  being  a  Milanese  gentleman  dis- 
guised as  a  dealer  in  barometers;  it  is  too  foolish!  Now, 
listen  carefully.  I  am  going  to  give  you  the  clothes  of  a 
hussar  who  died  in  the  prison  the  day  before  yesterday. 
Never  open  your  lips  unless  you  are  obliged  to.  If  a  ser- 
geant or  an  officer  questions  you  so  that  you  have  to  reply, 
say  you  have  been  lying  ill  in  the  house  of  a  peasant,  who 

33 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

found  you  shaking  with  fever  in  a  ditch,  and  sheltered  you 
out  of  charity.  If  this  answer  does  not  satisfy  them,  say 
you  are  working  your  way  back  to  your  regiment.  You 
may  be  arrested  because  of  your  accent.  Then  say  you 
were  born  in  Piedmont,  that  you  are  a  conscript,  and  were 
left  behind  in  France  last  year,  etc." 

For  the  first  time,  after  his  three-and-thirty  days  of  rage 
and  fury,  Fabrizio  understood  the  meaning  of  what  had 
befallen  him.  He  had  been  taken  for  a  spy !  He  reasoned 
with  the  jailer's  wife,  who  felt  very  tenderly  toward  him 
that  morning,  and  at  last,  while  she,  armed  with  a  needle, 
was  taking  in  the  hussar's  garments  for  him,  frankly  told 
her  his  story.  For  a  moment  she  believed  it — he  looked 
so  simple  and  was  so  handsome  in  his  hussar  uniform ! 

"  As  you  had  set  your  heart  on  fighting,"  she  said,  half 
convinced  at  last,  "  you  should  have  enlisted  in  some  regi- 
ment as  soon  as  you  got  to  Paris.  That  job  would  have 
been  done  at  once  if  you  had  taken  any  sergeant  to  a  tavern 
and  paid  his  score  there."  She  added  a  great  deal  of  good 
advice  for  his  future,  and  at  last,  just  as  day  was  breaking, 
let  him  out  of  the  house,  after  making  him  swear  again  and 
again,  a  hundred  times  over,  that,  whatever  happened  to 
him,  her  name  should  never  pass  his  lips.  As  soon  as 
Fabrizio  had  got  clear  of  the  little  town  and  began  step- 
ping out  boldly  along  the  highroad,  with  his  sabre  tucked 
under  his  arm,  a  shadow  fell  upon  his  soul.  "  Here  I  am," 
he  reflected,  "  with  the  clothes  and  the  route  papers  of  a 
hussar  who  died  in  prison,  where  he  was  put,  I  understand, 
for  stealing  a  cow  and  some  silver  spoons  and  forks!  I 
have  inherited,  so  to  speak,  his  existence,  and  that  without 
any  wish  or  intention  of  my  own.  Look  out  for  prisons! 
The  omen  is  clear — I  shall  suflfer  many  things  from 
prisons !  " 

Hardly  an  hour  after  he  had  bidden  farewell  to  his  bene- 
factress the  rain  began  to  fall  with  such  violence  that  the 
newly  fledged  hussar,  hampered  by  the  heavy  boots  which 
had  never  been  made  for  his  feet,  could  hardly  contrive  to 
walk.  He  came  across  a  peasant  riding  a  sorry  nag,  and 
bought  the  horse,  bargaining  by  sig^s,  for  the  jailer's  wife 

34 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

had  advised  him  to  speak  as  little  as  possible,  on  account 
of  his  foreign  accent. 

That  day  the  army,  which  had  just  won  the  battle  of 
Ligny,  was  in  full  march  on  Brussels.  It  was  the  eve  of 
the  battle  of  Waterloo.  Toward  noon,  while  the  rain  still 
poured  down,  Fabrizio  heard  artillery  firing.  In  his  hap- 
piness he  forgot  all  the  terrible  moments  of  despair  he  had 
endured  in  his  undeserved  prison.  He  travelled  on,  far  into 
the  night,  and,  as  he  was  beginning  to  learn  a  little  sense, 
he  sought  shelter  in  a  peasant's  hut,  quite  off  the  main 
road.  The  peasant  was  crying,  and  saying  that  he  had  been 
stripped  of  everything  he  had.  Fabrizio  gave  him  a  crown, 
and  discovered  some  oats.  "  My  horse  is  no  beauty,"  the 
young  man  reflected,  "  but  still  some  adjutant  fellow  might 
take  a  fancy  to  him,"  and  he  lay  down  in  the  stable  beside 
his  mount.  An  hour  before  daylight  next  morning  he  was 
on  the  road  agfain.  By  dint  of  much  coaxing  he  wheedled 
his  horse  into  a  trot.  Toward  five  o'clock  he  heard  heavy 
firing.    It  was  the  beginning  of  Waterloo. 


CHAPTER  III 

Fabrizio  soon  came  upon  some  cantinihes,  and  the 
deep  gratitude  he  felt  toward  the  jailer's  wife  incited  him 
to  address  them.  He  inquired  of  one  of  them  as  to  where 
the  Fourth  Regiment  of  Hussars,  to  which  he  belonged, 
might  be. 

"  You  would  do  much  better  not  to  be  in  such  a  hurry, 
my  young  fellow,"  replied  the  woman,  touched  by  Fabrizio's 
pallor  and  the  beauty  of  his  eyes.  "  Your  hand  is  not  steady 
enough  yet  for  the  sword  play  that  this  day  must  see! 
Now,  if  you  had  only  a  gun,  I  don't  say  but  that  you  might 
fire  it  off  as  well  as  any  other  man." 

The  advice  was  not  pleasing  to  Fabrizio,  but,  however 
much  he  pressed  his  horse,  he  could  not  get  it  to  travel  any 
faster  than  the  sutler's  cart.  Every  now  and  then  the  artil- 
lery fire  seemed  to  grow  closer,  and  prevented  each  from 
hearing  what  the  other  said,  for  so  wild  was  the  boy  with 
enthusiasm  and  delight  that  he  had  begun  to  talk  again. 
Every  word  the  woman  dropped  increased  his  joy,  by  mak- 
ing him  realize  it  more  fully.  He  ended  by  telling  the 
woman,  who  seemed  thoroughly  kind-hearted,  the  whole  of 
his  adventures,  with  the  exception  of  his  real  name  and  his 
flight  from  prison.  She  was  much  astonished,  and  could 
make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  the  handsome  young  soldier's 
story. 

"  I  have  it !  "  she  cried  at  last,  with  a  look  of  triumph. 
"  You  are  a  young  civilian,  in  love  with  the  wife  of  some 
captain  in  the  Fourth  Hussars!  Your  ladylove  has  given 
you  the  uniform  you  wear,  and  you  are  tearing  about  after 
her.  As  sure  as  God  reigns  above  us,  you  are  no  soldier; 
you  have  never  been  a  soldier!    But,  like  the  brave  fellow 

3^ 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

you  are,  you  are  determined  to  be  with  your  regiment  while 
it  is  under  fire  rather  than  be  taken  for  a  coward." 

Fabrizio  agreed  to  everything.  That  was  the  only 
method  by  which  he  could  secure  good  advice.  "  I  know 
nothing  of  these  French  people's  ways,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "  and  if  somebody  doesn't  guide  me  I  shall  get  my- 
self into  prison  again,  or  some  fellow  will  steal  my  horse 
from  me !  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  my  boy,"  said  the  cantinQre,  who 
was  growing  more  and  more  friendly,  "  you  must  admit 
you  are  under  twenty — I  don't  believe  you  are  an  hour  over 
seventeen ! " 

That  was  true,  and  Fabrizio  willingly  admitted  it. 

"  Then  you're  not  even  a  conscript — it's  simply  and 
solely  for  the  lady's  sake  that  you  are  risking  your  bones. 
Bless  me,  she's  not  oversqueamish !  If  you  still  have  any 
of  the  yellow  boys  she  has  given  you  in  your  pocket,  the 
first  thing  you  must  do  is  to  buy  yourself  another  horse. 
Look  how  that  brute  of  yours  pricks  up  her  ears  whenever 
the  guns  growl  a  little  close  to  her!  That's  a  peasant's 
horse;  it'll  kill  you  the  moment  you  get  to  the  front.  See 
that  white  smoke  yonder,  over  the  hedge?  That  means 
musket  volleys!  Therefore,  my  fine  fellow,  make  ready 
to  be  in  a  horrible  fright  when  you  hear  the  bullets  whistling 
over  your  head.  You  had  far  better  eat  a  bit  now,  while 
you  have  the  time." 

Fabrizio  acted  on  her  advice,  and,  pulling  a  napoleon  out 
of  his  pocket,  requested  the  cantiniere  to  pay  herself  out 
of  it. 

"  It's  a  downright  pity  I  "  cried  the  good  woman ;  "  the 
poor  child  doesn't  even  know  how  to  spend  his  money! 
'Twould  serve  you  right  if  I  pocketed  your  napoleon  and 
made  my  Cocotte  start  oflf  at  full  trot.  Devil  take  me  if 
your  beast  could  follow  her!  What  could  you  do,  you 
simpleton,  if  you  saw  me  make  off?  Let  me  tell  you  that 
when  the  big  guns  begin  to  grumble  nobody  shows  his 
gold  pieces.  Here,"  she  went  on,  "  I  give  you  back  eigh- 
teen francs  and  fifty  centimes ;  your  breakfast  costs  you  thirty 
sous.    Soon  we  shall  have  horses  to  sell.    Then  you'll  give 

37 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ten  francs  for  a  small  one,  and  never  more  than  twenty,  not 
even  for  the  best !  " 

The  meal  was  over,  and  the  cantiniere,  who  was  still 
holding  forth,  was  interrupted  by  a  woman  who  had  been 
coming  across  the  fields,  and  now  passed  along  the  road. 

"  Halloo !  Hi !  "  she  shouted.  "  Halloo,  Margot !  Your 
Sixth  Light  Regiment  is  on  the  right !  " 

"  I  must  be  oflf,  my  boy,"  said  the  cantiniere ;  "  but  really 
and  truly  I  am  sorry  for  you !  Upon  my  soul,  I  feel  friendly 
to  you.  You  know  nothing  about  anything ;  you'll  be  wiped 
out,  as  sure  as  God  is  God;  come  along  with  me  to  the 
Sixth !  " 

"  I  understand  very  well  that  I  know  nothing  at  all,"  said 
Fabrizio ;  "  but  I  mean  to  fight,  and  I  am  going  over  there 
to  that  white  smoke." 

"  Just  look  how  your  mare's  ears  are  wagging !  The 
moment  you  get  her  down  there  she'll  take  the  bit  in  her 
teeth,  weak  as  she  is,  and  gallop  off,  and  God  knows  where 
she'll  take  you  to !  Take  my  advice,  as  soon  as  you  get 
down  to  the  soldiers,  pick  up  a  musket  and  an  ammunition 
pouch,  lie  down  beside  them,  and  do  exactly  as  they  do. 
But,  Lord!  I'll  wager  you  don't  even  know  how  to  bite 
open  a  cartridge !  " 

Fabrizio,  though  sorely  galled,  truthfully  answered  that 
his  new  friend  had  guessed  aright. 

"  Poor  little  chap,  he'll  be  killed  at  once !  God's  truth, 
it  won't  take  long !  You  must  and  shall  come  with  me,"  she 
added  with  an  air  of  authority. 

"  But  I  want  to  fight." 

"  So  you  shall  fight !  The  Sixth  is  a  first-rate  regiment, 
and  there'll  be  fighting  for  every  one  to-day." 

"  But  shall  we  soon  get  to  your  regiment  ?  " 

"  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  at  the  outside." 

"  If  this  good  woman  vouches  for  me,"  reasoned  Fabri- 
zio, "  I  shall  not  be  taken  for  a  spy  on  account  of  my  uni- 
versal ignorance,  and  I  shall  get  a  chance  of  fighting."  At 
that  moment  the  firing  grew  heavier,  the  reports  following 
closely  one  upon  the  other,  "  like  the  beads  in  a  rosary," 
said  Fabrizio  to  himself. 

38 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  I  begin  to  hear  the  volleys,"  said  the  cantinihe,  whip- 
ping up  her  pony,  which  seemed  quite  excited  by  the  noise. 
She  turned  to  the  right,  along  a  cross-road  leading  through 
the  meadow;  the  mud  was  a  foot  deep,  and  the  little  cart 
almost  stuck  in  it.  Fabrizio  pushed  at  the  wheels.  Twice 
over  his  horse  fell  down.  Soon  the  road  grew  dryer,  and 
dwindled  into  a  mere  foot-path  across  the  sward.  Fabrizio 
had  not  ridden  on  five  hundred  paces  when  his  horse 
stopped  short — a  corpse  lying  across  the  path  had  startled 
both  beast  and  rider. 

Fabrizio,  whose  face  was  naturally  pale,  turned  visibly 
green;  the  cantiniere,  looking  at  the  dead  man,  said,  as 
though  talking  to  herself,  "  Nobody  of  our  division,"  and 
then,  raising  her  eyes  to  our  hero's  face,  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Ha,  ha,  my  child !  "  she  cried,  "  here's  a  loUypop  for 
you!" 

Fabrizio  sat  on,  horror-struck.  What  most  impressed 
him  was  the  mud  on  the  feet  of  the  corpse,  which  had  been 
stripped  of  its  shoes,  and  of  everything  else,  indeed,  except 
a  wretched  pair  of  blood-stained  trousers. 

"  Come,"  said  the  cantiniere,  "  tumble  off  your  horse ; 
you  must  get  used  to  it.  Ha,"  she  went  on,  "  he  got  it 
through  the  head !  "  The  corpse  was  hideously  disfigured. 
A  bullet  had  entered  near  the  nose  and  passed  out  at  the 
opposite  temple.    One  eye  was  open  and  staring. 

"  Now,  then,  get  off  your  horse,  boy,"  cried  the  can- 
tinihe, "  shake  him  by  the  hand,  and  see  if  he'll  shake  yours 
back." 

At  once,  though  sick  almost  to  death  with  horror,  Fa- 
brizio threw  himself  from  his  horse,  seized  the  dead  hand 
and  shook  it  well.  Then  he  stood  in  a  sort  of  dream ;  he  felt 
he  had  not  strength  to  get  back  upon  his  horse;  the  dead 
man's  open  eye,  especially,  filled  him  with  horror. 

"  This  woman  will  take  me  for  a  coward,"  thought  he 
to  himself  bitterly.  Yet  he  felt  that  he  could  not  stir;  he 
would  certainly  have  fallen.  It  was  a  terrible  moment.  Fa- 
brizio was  just  going  to  faint  dead  away.  The  cantinihe 
saw  it,  jumped  smartly  out  of  her  little  cart,  and  without  a 
word  proffered  him  a  glass  of  brandy,  which  he  swallowed 

39 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

at  a  g^lp.  After  that  he  was  able  to  remount,  and  rode 
along  without  opening  his  lips.  Every  now  and  then  the 
woman  looked  at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"  You  shall  fight  to-morrow,  my  boy,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  To-day  you  shall  stay  with  me.  You  see  now  that  you 
must  learn  your  soldier's  trade." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  want  to  fight  now,  at  once,"  cried  our 
hero,  and  his  look  was  so  fierce  that  the  cantiniere  augured 
well  from  it.  The  artillery  fire  grew  heavier,  and  seemed 
to  draw  nearer.  The  reports  began  to  form  a  sort  of  con- 
tinuous bass,  there  was  no  interval  between  them,  and  above 
this  deep  note,  which  was  like  the  noise  of  a  distant  torrent, 
the  musketry  volleys  rang  out  distinctly. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  road  turned  into  a  grove  of 
trees.  The  cantiniere  noticed  two  or  three  French  soldiers 
running  toward  her  as  hard  as  their  legs  would  carry  them. 
She  sprang  nimbly  from  her  cart,  and  ran  to  hide  herself 
some  fifteen  or  twenty  paces  from  the  road.  There  she 
concealed  herself  in  the  hole  left  by  the  uprooting  of  a 
great  tree.  "  Now,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  I  shall  find 
out  whether  I  am  a  coward."  He  halted  beside  the  forsaken 
cart  and  drew  his  sword.  The  soldiers  paid  no  attention  to 
him,  but  ran  along  the  wood  on  the  left  side  of  the  road. 

"  Those  are  some  of  our  men,"  said  the  cantiniere  coolly, 
as  she  came  back  panting  to  her  little  cart.  "  If  your  mare 
had  a  canter  in  her  I  would  tell  you  to  ride  to  the  end  of 
the  wood,  and  see  if  there  is  any  one  on  the  plain  beyond." 
Fabrizio  needed  no  second  bidding.  He  tore  a  branch  from 
a  poplar  tree,  stripped  off  the  leaves,  and  belaboured  his 
mount  soundly.  For  a  moment  the  brute  broke  into  a  can- 
ter, but  it  soon  went  back  to  its  usual  jog-trot.  The  can- 
tiniere had  forced  her  pony  into  a  gallop.  "  Stop !  stop !  I 
say !  "  she  shouted  to  Fabrizio.  Soon  they  both  emerged 
from  the  wood.  When  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  plain 
they  heard  a  most  tremendous  noise.  Heavy  guns  and  mus- 
ketry volleys  thundered  on  every  hand — right,  left,  and  be- 
hind them — and  as  the  grove  from  which  they  had  just 
emerged  crowned  a  hillock  some  eight  or  ten  feet  higher 
than  the  plain,  they  had  a  fair  view  of  a  corner  of  the  battle- 

40 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

field.  But  the  meadow  just  beyond  the  wood  was  empty. 
It  was  bounded,  about  a  thousand  paces  from  where  they 
stood,  by  a  long  row  of  very  bushy  willow  trees.  Beyond 
these  hung  a  cloud  of  white  smoke,  which  now  and  then 
eddied  up  toward  the  sky, 

"  If  I  only  knew  where  the  regiment  was !  "  said  the 
woman,  looking  puzzled.  "  We  can't  go  straight  across 
that  big  meadow.  By  the  way,  young  fellow,"  she  said  to 
Fabrizio,  "  if  you  see  one  of  the  enemy,  stick  him  with 
the  point  of  your  sword ;  don't  amuse  yourself  by  trying  to 
cut  him  down." 

Just  at  that  moment  she  caught  sight  of  the  four  soldiers 
of  whom  we  have  already  spoken.  They  were  coming  out 
of  the  wood  on  to  the  plain  to  the  left  of  the  road.  One  of 
them  was  on  horseback. 

"  Here's  what  you  want,"  said  she  to  Fabrizio.  Then, 
shouting  to  the  mounted  man,  "  Halloo,  you !  Why  don't 
you  come  and  drink  a  glass  of  brandy  ?  "  The  soldiers  drew 
nearer. 

"  Where's  the  Sixth  Light  Regiment  ?  "  she  called  out. 

"  Over  there,  five  minutes  oflf,  in  front  of  the  canal  that 
runs  along  those  willows.  And  Colonel  Macon  has  just 
been  killed." 

"  Will  you  take  five  francs  for  that  horse  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Five  francs !  That's  a  pretty  fair  joke,  my  good 
woman!  Five  francs  for  an  officer's  charger  that  I  shall 
sell  for  five  napoleons  before  the  hour's  out !  " 

"  Give  me  one  of  your  napoleons,"  whispered  the  can- 
tiniere  to  Fabrizio ;  then,  going  close  up  to  the  man  on 
horseback,  "  Get  off,  and  look  sharp  about  it  I "  she  said ; 
"  here's  your  napoleon." 

The  soldier  slipped  oflf,  and  Fabrizio  sprang  gaily  into 
his  saddle,  while  the  cantiniere  unfastened  the  little  valise  he 
had  carried  on  the  other. 

"  Here !  why  don't  you  help  me,  you  fellows  ?  "  said  she 
to  the  soldier.  "What  do  you  mean  by  letting  a  lady  work !" 
But  the  captured  charger  no  sooner  felt  the  valise  than  he 
began  to  plunge,  and  Fabrizio,  who  was  a  first-rate  horse- 
man, had  to  use  all  his  skill  to  retam  his  seat.    "  That's  a 

41 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

good  sign,"  said  the  cantiniere ;  "  the  gentleman's  not  ac- 
customed to  the  tickhng  of  valises !  " 

"  It's  a  general's  horse,"  cried  the  soldier  who  had  sold 
it.  "  That  horse  is  worth  ten  napoleons  if  it's  worth  a 
farthing." 

"  Here  are  twenty  francs  for  you,"  said  Fabrizio,  who 
was  beside  himself  with  joy  at  feeling  a  spirited  animal  be- 
tween his  legs. 

Just  at  this  moment  a  round  shot  came  whizzing  slant- 
wise through  the  row  of  willows,  and  Fabrizio  enjoyed  the 
curious  sight  of  all  the  little  branches  flying  left  and  right 
as  if  they  had  been  mowed  off  with  a  scythe.  "  Humph !  " 
said  the  soldier,  as  he  pocketed  his  twenty  francs,  "  the 
worry's  beginning."    It  was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  day. 

Fabrizio  was  still  lost  in  admiration  of  this  curious  spec- 
tacle, when  a  group  of  generals,  escorted  by  a  score  of  hus- 
sars, galloped  across  one  of  the  corners  of  the  wide  meadow 
on  the  edge  of  which  he  was  standing.  His  horse  neighed, 
plunged  two  or  three  times,  and  pulled  violently  at  the  curb. 
"  So  be  it,  then,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself.  He  gave  the 
animal  the  rein,  and  it  dashed,  full  gallop,  up  to  the  escort 
which  rode  behind  the  generals. 

Fabrizio  counted  four  plumed  hats. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  he  gathered  from  some  words 
spoken  by  the  hussar  next  him  that  one  of  these  generals 
was  the  famous  Marshal  Ney.  That  crowned  his  happiness ; 
yet  he  could  not  guess  which  of  the  four  was  the  marshal. 
He  would  have  given  all  the  world  to  know,  but  he  remem- 
bered he  must  not  open  his  lips.  The  escort  halted  to  cross 
a  large  ditch,  which  the  rain  of  the  preceding  night  had  filled 
with  water.  It  was  skirted  by  large  trees,  and  ran  along 
the  left  side  of  the  meadow  at  the  entrance  of  which  Fabrizio 
had  bought  his  horse.  Almost  all  the  hussars  had  dis- 
mounted. The  sides  of  the  ditch  were  steep  and  exceedingly 
slippery,  and  the  water  lay  quite  three  or  four  feet  below  the 
level  of  the  meadow.  Fabrizio,  wrapped  up  in  his  delight, 
was  thinking  more  about  Marshal  Ney  and  glory  than  about 
his  horse,  which,  being  very  spirited,  jumped  into  the  water- 
course, splashing  the  water  up  to  a  considerable  height. 

42 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

One  of  the  generals  was  well  wetted,  and  shouted  with  an 
oath,  "  Devil  take  the  damned  brute ! "  This  insult 
wounded  Fabrizio  deeply.  "  Can  I  demand  an  explana- 
tion? "  he  wondered.  Meanwhile,  to  prove  that  he  was  not 
so  stupid  as  he  looked,  he  tried  to  force  his  horse  up  the 
opposite  side  of  the  ditch,  but  it  was  five  or  six  feet  high, 
and  most  precipitous.  He  was  obliged  to  give  it  up.  Then 
he  followed  up  the  current,  the  water  rising  to  his  horse's 
head,  and  came  at  last  to  a  sort  of  watering-place,  up  the 
gentle  slope  of  which  he  easily  passed  into  the  field  on  the 
other  side  of  the  cutting.  He  was  the  first  man  of  the  escort 
to  get  across,  and  trotted  proudly  along  the  bank.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  ditch  the  hussars  were  floundering  about, 
very  much  puzzled  what  to  do  with  themselves,  for  in  many 
places  the  water  was  five  feet  deep.  Two  or  three  of  the 
horses  took  fright  and  tried  to  swim,  which  created  a  ter- 
rible splashing.  Then  a  sergeant  noticed  the  tactics  followed 
by  the  greenhorn,  who  looked  so  very  unlike  a  soldier. 
"  Turn  up  the  stream,"  he  shouted ;  "  there's  a  watering- 
place  on  the  left !  "  and  by  degrees  they  all  got  over. 

When  Fabrizio  reached  the  farther  bank,  he  found  the 
generals  there  all  alone.  The  roar  of  the  artillery  seemed  to 
him  louder  than  ever.  He  could  hardly  hear  the  general 
he  had  so  thoroughly  drenched,  who  shouted  into  his  ear: 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  horse  ?  " 

Fabrizio  was  so  taken  aback  that  he  answered  in  Italian : 

"  L'ho  comprato  poco  fa! "    ("  I  have  just  bought  it.") 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  shouted  the  general  again. 

But  the  noise  suddenly  grew  so  tremendous  that  Fa- 
brizio could  not  reply.  At  this  moment,  it  must  be  acknowl- 
edged, our  hero  felt  anything  but  heroic.  Still,  fear  was 
only  a  secondary  sensation  on  his  part.  It  was  the  noise 
that  hurt  his  ears  and  disconcerted  him  so  dreadfully.  The 
escort  broke  into  a  gallop.  They  were  crossing  a  wide 
stretch  of  ploughed  land,  which  lay  beyond  the  canal.  The 
field  was  dotted  with  corpses. 

"  The  red-coats !  the  red-coats ! "  shouted  the  hussars 
joyfully.  Fabrizio  did  not  understand  them  at  first.  Then 
he  perceived  that  almost  all  the  corpses  were  dressed  in 

43 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

red,  and  also,  which  gave  him  a  thrill  of  horror,  that  a 
great  many  of  these  unhappy  "  red-coats  "  were  still  alive. 
They  were  crying  out,  evidently  asking  for  help,  but  nobody 
stopped  to  give  it  to  them.  Our  hero,  in  his  humanity,  did 
all  he  could  to  prevent  his  horse  from  treading  on  any  red 
uniform.  The  escort  halted.  Fabrizio,  instead  of  attend- 
ing to  his  duty  as  a  soldier,  galloped  on,  with  his  eye  on  a 
poor  wounded  fellow. 

"  Will  you  pull  up,  you  idiot  ?  "  shouted  the  troop  ser- 
geant-major. Then  Fabrizio  became  aware  that  he  was 
twenty  paces  in  advance  of  the  generals'  right,  and  just  in  the 
line  of  their  field-glasses.  As  he  rode  back  to  the  rear  of  the 
escort,  he  saw  the  most  portly  of  the  officers  speaking  to  his 
next  neighbour,  also  a  general,  with  an  air  of  authority,  and 
almost  of  reprimand.  He  swore.  Fabrizio  could  not  re- 
strain his  curiosity,  and,  in  spite  of  the  advice  of  his  friend 
the  jailer's  wife,  never  to  speak  if  he  could  help  it,  made 
up  a  neat  and  correct  little  French  sentence.  "  Who's  that 
general  blowing  up  the  one  next  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  that's  the  marshal,  to  be  sure ! " 

"What  marshal?" 

"  Marshal  Ney,  you  fool !  Where  in  thunder  have  you 
been  serving  up  to  now  ?  " 

Touchy  though  he  was  by  nature,  Fabrizio  never 
dreamed  of  resenting  the  insult.  Lost  in  boyish  admiration, 
he  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  "  bravest  of  the  brave,"  the  fa- 
mous Prince  of  the  Moskowa. 

Suddenly  every  one  broke  into  a  gallop.  In  a  few  min- 
utes Fabrizio  saw  another  ploughed  field,  about  twenty 
paces  in  front  of  him,  the  surface  of  which  was  heaving  in  a 
very  curious  manner.  The  furrows  were  full  of  water,  and 
the  damp  earth  of  the  ridges  was  flying  about,  three  or 
four  feet  high,  in  little  black  lumps.  Fabrizio  just  noticed 
this  odd  appearance  as  he  galloped  along ;  then  his  thoughts 
fllew  back  to  the  marshal  and  his  glory.  A  sharp  cry  rang 
out  close  to  him;  two  hussars  fell,  struck  by  bullets,  and 
when  he  looked  at  them,  they  were  already  twenty  paces  be- 
hind the  escort.  A  sight  which  seemed  horrible  to  him  was 
that  of  a  horse,  bathed  in  blood,  struggling  on  the  ploughed 

44 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

earth,  with  its  feet  caught  in  its  own  entrails.  It  was  trying" 
to  follow  the  others.    The  blood  was  pouring  over  the  mud. 

"  Well,  I  am  under  fire  at  last,"  he  thought.  "  I  have 
seen  it !  "  he  reiterated,  with  a  glow  of  satisfaction.  "  Now 
I  am  a  real  soldier !  "  The  escort  was  now  galloping  at  full 
speed,  and  our  hero  realized  that  it  was  shot  which  was 
tossing  up  the  soil.  In  vain  he  gazed  in  the  direction 
whence  the  fusillade  came.  The  white  smoke  of  the  bat- 
tery seemed  to  him  an  immense  way  off,  and  amid  the 
steady  and  continuous  grumble  of  the  artillery  fire  he 
thought  he  could  distinguish  other  reports,  much  nearer. 
He  could  make  nothing  of  it  at  all. 

At  that  moment  the  generals  and  their  escort  entered  a 
narrow  lane,  sunk  about  five  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
ground.    It  was  full  of  water. 

The  marshal  halted,  and  put  up  his  glass  again.  This 
time  Fabrizio  had  a  good  view  of  him.  He  saw  a  very 
fair  man  with  a  large  red  head.  "  We  have  no  faces  like  that 
in  Italy,"  he  mused.  "  With  my  pale  face  and  chestnut  hair 
I  shall  never  be  like  him,"  he  added  sadly.  To  him  those 
words  meant,  "  I  shall  never  be  a  hero !  "  He  looked  at  the 
hussars.  All  of  them  except  one  had  fair  mustaches.  If 
Fabrizio  stared  at  them,  they  stared  at  him  as  well.  He  col- 
oured under  their  scrutiny,  and,  to  ease  his  shyness,  turned 
his  head  toward  the  enemy.  He  saw  very  long  lines  of 
red  figures,  but  what  astonished  him  was  that  they  all  looked 
so  small.  Those  long  files,  which  were  really  regiments  and 
divisions,  seemed  to  him  no  higher  than  hedges.  A  line  of 
red-coated  horsemen  was  trotting  toward  the  sunken  road, 
along  which  the  marshal  and  his  escort  had  begun  to  move 
slowly,  splashing  through  the  mud.  The  smoke  made  it 
impossible  to  see  anything  ahead.  Only,  from  time  to  time, 
hurrying  horsemen  emerged  from  the  white  smoke. 

Suddenly  Fabrizio  saw  four  men  come  galloping  as  hard 
as  they  could  tear  from  the  direction  in  which  the  enemy 
lay.  "  Ah !  "  said  he  to  himself,  "  we  are  going  to  be  at- 
tacked ! "  Then  he  saw  two  of  these  men  address  the  mar- 
shal, and  one  of  the  generals  in  attendance  upon  him  gal- 
loped off  toward  the  enemy,  followed  by  two  hussars  of  the 

45 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

escort,  and  the  two  men  who  had  just  ridden  up.  On  the 
other  side  of  a  small  water-course,  which  everybody  now 
crossed,  Fabrizio  found  himself  riding  alongside  a  good- 
natured-looking  sergeant.  "  I  really  must  speak  to  this 
man,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Perhaps  if  I  do  that,  they'll 
stop  staring  at  me."  After  considerable  meditation  he  said 
to  the  sergeant :  "  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  seen  a 
battle.    But  is  it  really  a  battle?  " 

"I  should  think  so!     But  who  on  earth  are  you?" 

"  I  am  brother  to  a  captain's  wife." 

"  And  what's  the  captain's  name  ?  " 

Our  hero  was  in  a  hideous  difficulty;  he  had  never  ex- 
pected that  question.  Luckily  for  him,  the  sergeant  and 
the  escort  began  to  gallop  again. 

"  What  French  name  shall  I  say  ?  "  he  wondered.  At 
last  he  bethought  him  of  the  name  of  the  man  who  had 
owned  the  hotel  in  which  he  had  lodged  in  Paris.  He 
brought  his  horse  up  close  beside  the  sergeant's  charger, 
and  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 

"  Captain  Meunier." 

The  other,  half  deafened  by  the  noise  of  the  artillery, 
answered,  "  What !  Captain  Teulier  ?  Well,  he's  been 
killed !  " 

"  Bravo !  "  said  Fabrizio  to  himself.  "  Captain  Teulier ! 
I  must  look  distressed." 

"  Oh,  my  God ! "  he  cried,  and  put  on  a  pitiful  face. 
They  had  left  the  sunken  road,  and  were  crossing  a  small 
meadow.  Every  one  tore  at  full  gallop,  for  the  bullets  were 
pelting  down  again.  The  marshal  rode  toward  a  cavalry 
division ;  the  escort  was  surrounded,  now,  by  dead  and 
wounded  men,  but  our  hero  was  already  less  affected  by 
the  sight;  he  had  something  else  to  think  about. 

While  the  escort  was  halting  he  noticed  a  cantinihe 
with  her  little  cart ;  his  affection  for  that  excellent  class  of 
women  overrode  every  other  feeling,  and  he  galloped  of? 

toward  the  vehicle.     "  Stop  here,  you "  shouted  the 

sergeant. 

"  What  harm  can  he  do  me  ? "  thought  Fabrizio,  and 
he  galloped  on  toward  the  cart.    He  had  felt  some  hope,  as 

46 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

he  spurred  his  horse  onward,  that  its  owner  might  be  the 
good  woman  he  had  met  in  the  morning — the  horse  and 
cart  looked  very  much  Hke  hers.  But  the  owner  of  these 
was  quite  a  different  person,  and  very  forbidding-looking 
into  the  bargain.  As  he  drew  close  to  her  he  heard  her  say, 
"  Well,  he  was  a  very  handsome  chap." 

A  hideous  sight  awaited  the  newly  made  soldier.  A 
cuirassier,  a  splendid  fellow,  nearly  six  feet  high,  was  having 
his  leg  cut  off.  Fabrizio  shut  his  eyes  and  drank  off  four 
glasses  of  brandy  one  after  the  other.  "  You  don't  stint 
yourself,  my  little  fellow ! "  quoth  the  cantiniere.  The 
brandy  gave  him  an  idea.  "  I  must  buy  my  comrades' 
good-will.  Give  me  the  rest  of  the  bottle,"  he  said  to 
the  woman. 

"  But  d'ye  know  that  on  such  a  day  as  this  the  rest  of 
the  bottle  will  cost  you  six  francs  ?  " 

As  he  galloped  back  to  the  escort,  "  Aha !  you  were 
fetching  us  a  dram.  'Twas  for  that  you  deserted ! "  ex- 
claimed the  sergeant.    "  Hand  over !  " 

The  bottle  went  round,  the  last  man  throwing  it  into 
the  air  after  he  had  drained  it.  "  Thankye,  comrade,"  he 
shouted  to  Fabrizio.  Every  eye  looked  kindly  on  him,  and 
these  glances  lifted  a  hundred-weight  off  his  heart,  one  of 
those  overdelicate  organs  which  pines  for  the  friendship  of 
those  about  it.  At  last,  then,  his  comrades  thought  no  ill 
of  him ;  there  was  a  bond  between  them.  He  drew  a 
deep  breath,  and  then,  turning  to  the  sergeant,  calmly 
inquired : 

"  And  if  Captain  Teulier  has  been  killed,  where  am  I  to 
find  my  sister?  "  He  thought  himself  a  young  Macchiavelli 
when  he  said  Teulier  instead  of  Meunier. 

"  You'll  find  that  out  to-night,"  replied  the  sergeant. 

Once  more  the  escort  moved  forward,  in  the  direction  of 
some  infantry  divisions.  Fabrizio  felt  quite  drunk ;  he  had 
swallowed  too  much  brandy,  and  swayed  a  little  in  his  sad- 
dle. Then  he  recollected,  very  much  in  season,  a  remark  he 
had  frequently  heard  made  by  his  mother's  coachman: 
"  When  you've  lifted  your  little  finger  you  must  always 
look  between  your  horse's  ears,  and  do  what  your  next 

47 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

neighbour  does."  The  marshal  halted  for  some  time  close 
to  several  bodies  of  cavalry,  which  he  ordered  to  charge. 
But  for  the  next  hour  or  two  our  hero  was  hardly  conscious 
of  what  was  going  on  about  him;  he  was  overcome  with 
weariness,  and  when  his  horse  galloped  he  bumped  in  his 
saddle  like  a  lump  of  lead. 

Suddenly  the  sergeant  shouted  to  his  men : 

"  Don't  you  see  the  Emperor,  you "  and  instantly 

the  escort  shouted  "  Vive  I'Empereur  "  at  the  top  of  their 
voices.  My  readers  may  well  imagine  that  our  hero  stared 
with  all  his  eyes,  but  all  he  saw  was  a  bevy  of  generals  gal- 
loping by,  followed  by  another  escort.  The  long,  hanging 
plumes  on  the  helmets  of  the  dragoons  in  attendance  pre- 
vented him  from  making  out  any  faces.  "  So,  thanks  to 
that  cursed  brandy,  I've  missed  seeing  the  Emperor  on  the 
battle-field."  The  thought  woke  him  up  completely.  They 
rode  into  another  lane  swimming  with  water,  and  the  horses 
paused  to  drink. 

"  So  that  was  the  Emperor  who  passed  by  ?  "  he  said  to 
the  next  man. 

"  Why,  certainly ;  the  one  in  the  plain  coat.  How 
did  you  miss  seeing  him  ?  "  answered  his  comrade  good- 
naturedly. 

Fabrizio  was  sorely  tempted  to  gallop  after  the  Em- 
peror's escort  and  join  it.  What  a  joy  it  would  have  been 
to  serve  in  a  real  war  in  attendance  on  that  hero !  Was 
it  not  for  that  very  purpose  that  he  had  come  to  France? 
"  I  am  perfectly  free  to  do  it,"  he  reflected,  "  for  indeed  the 
only  reason  for  my  doing  my  present  duty  is  that  my  horse 
chose  to  gallop  after  these  generals." 

But  what  decided  him  on  remaining  was  that  his  com- 
rades the  hussars  treated  him  in  a  friendly  fashion ;  he  began 
to  believe  himself  the  close  friend  of  every  one  of  the  sol- 
diers with  whom  he  had  been  galloping  the  last  few  hours ; 
he  conceived  himself  bound  to  them  by  the  noble  ties  that 
united  the  heroes  of  Tasso  and  Ariosto.  If  he  joined  the 
Emperor's  escort  he  would  have  to  make  fresh  acquaint- 
ances, and  perhaps  he  might  get  the  cold  shoulder,  for 
the  horsemen  of  the  other  escort  were  dragoons,  and  he, 

48 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

like  all  those  in  attendance  on  the  marshal,  wore  hussar 
uniform.  The  manner  in  which  the  troopers  now  looked 
at  him  filled  our  hero  with  happiness.  He  would  have  done 
anything  on  earth  for  his  comrades;  his  whole  soul  and 
spirit  were  in  the  clouds.  Everything  seemed  different  to 
him  now  that  he  was  among  friends,  and  he  was  dying  to 
ask  questions. 

"  But  I  am  not  quite  sober  yet,"  he  thought.  "  I  must 
remember  the  jailer's  wife."  As  they  emerged  from  the 
sunken  road  he  noticed  that  they  were  no  longer  escorting 
Marshal  Ney ;  the  general  they  were  now  attending  was  tall 
and  thin,  with  a  severe  face  and  a  merciless  eye. 

He  was  no  other  than  the  Count  d'A ,  the  Lieutenant 

Robert  of  May  15,  1796.  What  would  have  been  his  de- 
light at  seeing  Fabrizio  del  Dongo ! 

For  some  time  Fabrizio  had  ceased  to  notice  the  soil 
flying  hither  and  thither  under  the  action  of  the  bullets. 
The  party  rode  up  behind  a  regiment  of  cuirassiers;  he 
distinctly  heard  the  missiles  pattering  on  the  cuirasses,  and 
saw  several  men  fall. 

The  sun  was  already  low,  and  it  was  just  about  to  set, 
when  the  escort,  leaving  the  lane,  climbed  a  little  slope 
which  led  into  a  ploughed  field.  Fabrizio  heard  a  curious 
little  noise  close  to  him,  and  turned  his  head.  Four  men 
had  fallen  with  their  horses ;  the  general  himself  had  been 
thrown,  but  was  just  getting  up,  all  covered  with  blood. 
Fabrizio  looked  at  the  hussars  on  the  ground ;  three  of  them 
were  still  moving  convulsively,  the  fourth  was  shouting 
"  Pull  me  out !  "  The  sergeant  and  two  or  three  troopers 
had  dismounted  to  help  the  general,  who,  leaning  on  his 
aide-de-camp,  was  trying  to  walk  a  few  steps  away  from  his 
horse,  which  was  struggling  on  the  ground  and  kicking 
furiously. 

The  sergeant  came  up  to  Fabrizio.  Just  at  that  moment, 
behind  him  and  close  to  his  ear,  he  heard  somebody  say, 
"  It's  the  only  one  that  can  still  gallop."  He  felt  his  feet 
seized  and  himself  lifted  up  by  them,  while  somebody  sup- 
ported his  body  under  the  arms.  Thus  he  was  drawn  over 
his  horse's  hind  quarters,  and  allowed  to  slip  on  to  the 

49 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ground,  where  he  fell  in  a  sitting  posture.  The  aide-de- 
camp caught  hold  of  the  horse's  bridle,  and  the  general, 
assisted  by  the  sergeant,  mounted  and  galloped  off,  swiftly 
followed  by  the  six  remaining  men.  In  a  fury,  Fabrizio 
jumped  up  and  ran  after  them,  shouting,  "  Ladri!  ladri! " 
("  Thieves !  thieves !  ")  There  was  something  comical 
about  this  running  after  thieves  over  a  battle-field.     The 

escort  and  General  Count  d'A soon  vanished  behind 

a  row  of  willow  trees.  Before  very  long  Fabrizio,  still  be- 
side himself  with  rage,  reached  a  similar  row,  and  just  be- 
yond it  he  came  on  a  very  deep  watercourse,  which  he 
crossed.  When  he  reached  the  other  side  he  began  to  swear 
again  at  the  sight — but  a  very  distant  sight — of  the  general 
and  his  escort  disappearing  among  the  trees.  "  Thieves ! 
thieves !  "  he  shouted  again,  this  time  in  French.  Broken- 
hearted— much  less  by  the  loss  of  his  horse  than  by  the 
treachery  with  which  he  had  been  treated — weary,  and  starv- 
ing, he  cast  himself  down  beside  the  ditch.  If  it  had  been  the 
enemy  which  had  carried  oflf  his  fine  charger  he  would  not 
have  given  it  a  thought,  but  to  see  himself  robbed  and  be- 
trayed by  the  sergeant  he  had  liked  so  much,  and  the  hussars, 
whom  he  had  looked  on  as  his  brothers,  filled  his  soul  with 
bitterness.  The  thought  of  the  infamy  of  it  was  more  than 
he  could  bear,  and,  leaning  his  back  against  a  willow,  he 
wept  hot,  angry  tears.  One  by  one  his  bright  dreams  of 
noble  and  chivalrous  friendship — like  the  friendships  of  the 
heroes  of  Jerusalem  Delivered — had  faded  before  his  eyes ! 
The  approach  of  death  would  have  been  as  nothing  in  his 
sight  if  he  had  felt  himself  surrounded  by  heroic  and  tender 
hearts,  by  noble-souled  friends,  whose  hands  should  have 
pressed  his  while  he  breathed  out  his  last  sigh.  But  how  was 
he  to  keep  up  his  enthusiasm  when  he  was  surrounded  by 
such  vile  rascals?  Fabrizio,  like  every  angry  man,  had 
fallen  into  exaggeration.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  spent 
in  such  melancholy  thoughts,  he  became  aware  that  the  bul- 
lets were  beginning  to  fall  among  the  row  of  trees  which 
sheltered  his  meditation.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  made 
an  effort  to  discover  his  whereabouts.  He  looked  at  the 
meadow,  bounded  by  a  broad  canal  and  a  line  of  bushy 

50 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

willows,  and  thought  he  recognised  the  spot.  Then  he 
noticed  a  body  of  infantry  which  was  crossing  the  ditch  and 
debouching  into  the  meadows  some  quarter  of  a  league 
ahead  of  him.  "  I  was  nearly  caught  napping,"  thought  he. 
"  I  must  take  care  not  to  be  taken  prisoner."  And  he  be- 
gan to  walk  forward  very  rapidly.  As  he  advanced,  his 
mind  was  relieved;  he  recognised  the  uniform.  The  regi- 
ments which  he  feared  might  have  cut  off  his  retreat  be- 
longed to  the  French  army;  he  bore  to  the  right,  so  as  to 
reach  them. 

Besides  the  moral  suffering  of  having  been  so  vilely 
deceived  and  robbed,  Fabrizio  felt  another,  the  pangs  of 
which  were  momentarily  increasing — he  was  literally  starv- 
ing. It  was  with  the  keenest  joy,  therefore,  that  after  walk- 
ing, or  rather  running,  for  ten  minutes,  he  perceived  that 
the  body  of  infantry,  which  had  also  been  moving  very 
rapidly,  had  halted,  as  though  to  take  up  a  position.  A  few 
minutes  more  and  he  was  among  the  nearest  soldiers. 
"  Comrades,  could  you  sell  me  a  piece  of  bread  ?  " 
"  Halloo,  here's  a  fellow  who  takes  us  for  bakers ! " 
The  rude  speech  and  the  general  titter  that  greeted  it 
overwhelmed  Fabrizio.  Could  it  be  that  war  was  not,  after 
all,  that  noble  and  general  impulse  of  souls  thirsting  for 
glory  which  Napoleon's  proclamations  had  led  him  to  con- 
ceive it?  He  sat  down,  or  rather  let  himself  drop  upon 
the  sward;  he  turned  deadly  pale.  The  soldier  who  had 
spoken,  and  who  had  stopped  ten  paces  off  to  clean  the 
lock  of  his  gun  with  his  handkerchief,  moved  a  little  nearer, 
and  threw  him  a  bit  of  bread;  then,  seeing  he  did  not 
pick  it  up,  the  man  put  a  bit  of  the  bread  into  his  mouth. 
Fabrizio  opened  his  eyes,  and  ate  the  bread  without  having 
strength  to  say  a  word ;  when  at  last  he  looked  about  for  the 
soldier,  intending  to  pay  him,  he  saw  he  was  alone.  The 
nearest  soldiers  to  him  were  some  hundred  paces  off, 
marching  away.  Mechanically  he  rose  and  followed  them ; 
he  entered  a  wood.  He  was  ready  to  drop  with  weari- 
ness, and  was  already  looking  about  for  a  place  where 
he  might  lay  him  down,  when  to  his  joy  he  recognized 
first  the   horse,  then  the   cart,   and   finally   the   cantinihe 

SI 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

he  had  met  in  the  morning.     She  ran  to  him,  quite  startled 
by  his  looks. 

"  March  on,  my  boy,"  she  said.  "  Are  you  wounded  ?  and 
where's  your  fine  horse  ?  "  As  she  spoke  she  led  him  to- 
ward her  cart,  into  which  she  pushed  him,  lifting  him  under 
the  arms.  So  weary  was  our  hero  that  before  he  had  well 
got  into  the  cart  he  had  fallen  fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Nothing  woke  him,  neither  the  shots  that  rang  out 
dose  to  the  httle  cart,  nor  the  jolting  of  the  horse,  which 
the  good  woman  whipped  up  with  all  her  might.  The 
regiment,  after  having  believed  all  day  long  that  victory  was 
on  its  side,  had  been  unexpectedly  attacked  by  clouds  of 
Prussian  cavalry,  and  was  retreating,  or  rather  flying,  to- 
ward the  French  border. 

The  colonel,  a  handsome,  well-set-up  young  man,  who 
had  succeeded  to  Macon's  command,  was  cut  down.  The 
major  who  took  his  place,  an  old  fellow  with  white  hair, 
halted  the  regiment.  "  Come,"  he  shouted  to  his  men,  "  in 
the  days  of  the  Republic  none  of  us  ran  away  till  the  enemy 
forced  us  to  it.  You  must  dispute  every  inch  of  the  ground, 
and  let  yourselves  be  killed !  "  he  added  with  an  oath.  "  It's 
our  own  country  that  these  Prussians  are  trying  to  invade 
now." 

The  little  cart  stopped  short,  and  Fabrizio  woke  with  a 
jump.  The  sun  had  disappeared  long  ago,  and  he  noticed 
to  his  surprise  that  it  was  almost  dark.  The  soldiers  were 
running  hither  and  thither  in  a  state  of  confusion,  which 
greatly  astonished  our  hero.  It  struck  him  that  they  all 
looked  very  crestfallen. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  he  to  the  cantinihe. 

"  Nothing  at  all.  The  matter  is  that  we're  done  for,  my 
boy ;  that  the  Prussian  cavalry  is  cutting  us  down — that's  all. 
The  fool  of  a  general  took  it  for  our  own  at  first.  Now 
then,  look  sharp!  Help  me  to  mend  the  trace;  Cocotte 
has  broken  it !  " 

Several  musket  shots  rang  out  ten  paces  off.  Our  hero, 
now  thoroughly  rested,  said  to  himself :  "  But  really,  all  this 
whole  day  through  I  have  never  fought  at  all !    All  I  have 

53 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

done  was  to  ride  escort  to  a  general.  I  must  go  and  fight," 
said  he  to  the  woman. 

"  Make  your  mind  easy ;  you'll  fight  more  than  you 
want.    We're  all  done  for !  " 

"  Aubry,  my  boy,"  she  shouted  to  a  corporal  who  was 
passing  by,  "  give  an  eye  to  the  little  cart  now  and  then." 

"  Are  you  going  to  fight  ?  "  said  Fabrizio  to  Aubry. 

"  No ;  I'm  going  to  put  on  my  pumps  and  go  to  the 
ball." 

"  I'm  after  you." 

"  Look  after  the  little  hussar,"  shouted  the  cantinihe ; 
"  he's  a  plucky  young  chap." 

Corporal  Aubry  marched  on  without  saying  a  word; 
eight  or  ten  soldiers  ran  up  and  joined  him.  He  led  them 
up  behind  a  big  oak  with  brambles  growing  all  round  it. 
Once  there,  he  stationed  them,  still  without  opening  his  lips, 
in  a  very  open  line,  along  the  edge  of  the  wood,  each  man 
at  least  ten  paces  from  his  neighbour. 

"  Now,  then,  you  fellows,"  he  said,  and  it  was  the  first 
time  his  voice  had  been  heard,  "  don't  you  fire  until  you 
hear  the  word  of  command.  Remember,  you've  only  three 
cartridges  apiece." 

"But  what  is  happening?"  wondered  Fabrizio  to  him- 
self. At  last,  when  he  was  alone  with  the  corporal,  he  said, 
"  I  have  no  musket." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  to  begin  with.  Go  forward  fifty 
paces  beyond  the  wood ;  you'll  find  some  of  our  poor  fel- 
lows who've  just  been  cut  down.  Take  a  musket  and  am- 
munition-pouch off  one  of  them.  But  mind  you  don't  take 
them  from  a  wounded  man ;  take  the  gun  and  pouch  from 
some  man  who  is  quite  dead.  And  look  sharp,  for  fear 
you  should  get  shot  at  by  our  own  people !  " 

Fabrizio  started  off  at  a  run,  and  soon  came  back  with 
a  musket  and  ammunition-pouch. 

"  Load  your  musket,  and  get  behind  this  tree ;  and  above 
all,  don't  fire  till  I  give  the  word." 

"  Great  God !  "  said  the  corporal,  breaking  off,  "  he 
doesn't  even  know  how  to  load  his  weapon !  "  He  came  to 
Fabrizio's  rescue,  and  went  on  talking  as  he  did  it.     "  If 

54 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

any  of  the  enemy's  cavalry  ride  at  you  to  cut  you  down, 
slip  round  your  tree,  and  don't  fire  your  shot  till  your  man's 
quite  close — not  more  than  three  paces  off;  your  bayonet 
must  almost  touch  his  uniform.  But  will  you  chuck  that 
great  sword  of  yours  away  ?  "  exclaimed  the  corporal.  "  Do 
you  want  it  to  throw  you  down?  'Sdeath,  what  soldiers 
they  send  us  nowadays ! "  And  as  he  spoke  he  snatched 
at  the  sword  himself  and  threw  it  angrily  away.  "  Here, 
wipe  the  flint  of  your  gun  with  your  handkerchief.  But 
have  you  ever  fired  a  gun  off  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  sportsman." 

"  God  be  praised ! "  said  the  corporal,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.  "  Well,  mind  you  don't  fire  till  I  give  the  word," 
and  he  departed. 

Fabrizio  was  filled  with  joy.  "  At  last,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "  I  am  really  going  to  fight  and  kill  an  enemy !  This 
morning  they  were  shooting  at  us,  and  all  I  did  was  to  ex- 
pose myself — a  fool's  errand !  "  He  looked  about  in  every 
direction  with  the  most  eager  curiosity.  After  a  moment 
seven  or  eight  musket  shots  rang  out  close  to  him,  but  as 
he  received  no  order  himself  he  stood  quietly  behind  his 
tree.  It  had  grown  almost  quite  dark ;  he  could  have  fan- 
cied he  was  hunting  bears  in  the  Tramezzina,  above  Gri- 
anta.  He  bethought  him  of  a  hunter's  trick :  took  a  car- 
tridge from  his  pouch  and  extracted  the  ball.  "  If  I  get  a 
sight  of  him,"  said  he,  "  I  mustn't  miss  him,"  and  he 
slipped  the  extra  ball  down  the  barrel  of  his  gun.  He  heard 
two  shots  fired  close  to  his  tree,  and  at  the  same  moment 
he  beheld  a  trooper  dressed  in  blue  galloping  in  front  of 
him  from  right  to  left.  "  He's  more  than  three  paces  off," 
said  he,  "  but  at  this  distance  I  can't  well  miss  him."  He 
covered  the  horseman  with  his  musket,  and  pulled  the  trig- 
ger. The  horse  fell,  and  his  rider  with  him.  Our  hero 
fancied  he  was  hunting,  and  ran  joyfully  up  to  the  quarry 
he  had  just  bagged.  He  had  got  quite  close  to  the  man, 
who  seemed  to  him  to  be  dying,  when  two  Prussian  troopers 
rode  down  upon  him  at  the  most  astounding  rate,  with  their 
swords  lifted  to  cut  him  down.  Fabrizio  took  to  his  heels, 
and  ran  for  the  wood,  throwing  away  his  gun  so  that  he 

55 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

might  run  the  quicker.  The  Prussian  troopers  were  not 
more  than  three  paces  behind  him  when  he  reached  a  plan- 
tation of  young  oaks,  very  straight  growing,  and  about  as 
thick  as  a  man's  arm,  which  skirted  the  wood.  The  little 
oaks  checked  the  horsemen  for  a  moment,  but  they  soon 
got  through  them  and  pursued  Fabrizio  across  a  clearing. 
They  were  quite  close  on  him  again  when  he  managed  to 
slip  between  seven  or  eight  big  trees.  Just  at  that  mo- 
ment his  face  was  almost  scorched  by  the  fire  from  five  or 
six  muskets  just  in  front  of  him.  He  lowered  his  head,  and 
when  he  raised  it  again  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
the  corporal. 

"  Have  you  killed  yours  ?  "  said  the  corporal. 

"  Yes,  but  I've  lost  my  musket." 

"  Muskets  are  not  the  thing  we  are  short  of.  You're  a 
good  chap,  though  you  do  look  like  a  muflf.  You've  done 
well  to-day,  and  these  fellows  have  just  missed  the  two 
who  were  after  you,  and  were  riding  straight  upon  them. 
I  didn't  see  them. 

"  Now  we  must  make  oflf.  The  regiment  must  be  half  a 
mile  away;  and,  besides,  there's  a  little  bit  of  meadow  to 
cross,  where  we  may  be  taken  in  flank."  As  he  talked  the 
corporal  marched  swiftly  along  at  the  head  of  his  ten  men, 
some  two  hundred  paces  farther  on.  As  he  entered  the  little 
meadow  of  which  he  had  spoken  they  came  upon  a 
wounded  general  supported  by  his  aide-de-camp  and  a  serv- 
ant. "  You  must  give  me  four  men,"  said  he  to  the  cor- 
poral, and  his  voice  was  faint.  "  I  must  be  carried  to  the 
ambulance ;  my  leg  is  shattered." 

"  You  may  go  to  the  devil,"  replied  the  corporal ;  "  you 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  generals.  You've  all  of  you  betrayed 
the  Emperor  this  day." 

"  What !  "  cried  the  general  in  a  fury ;  "  you  won't  obey 

my  orders  ?    Do  you  know  that  I  am  General  Count  B , 

commanding  your  division  ?  "  and  so  forth,  with  a  string  of 
invectives. 

The  aide-de-camp  rushed  at  the  soldier.  The  corporal 
thrust  at  him  with  his  bayonet,  and  then  made  off  at  the 
double,  followed  by  his  men. 

56 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  May  they  all  be  like  you ! "  he  repeated  with  an  oath. 
"  With  their  legs  shattered  and  their  arms  too !  A  pack  of 
rascals,  sold  to  the  Bourbons  and  traitors  to  the  Emperor, 
every  one  of  them !  " 

Fabrizio  heard  the  hideous  accusation  with  astonish- 
ment. 

Toward  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  little  party  came 
upon  the  regiment,  at  the  entrance  to  a  big  village  consist- 
ing of  several  narrow  streets.  But  Fabrizio  noticed  that 
Corporal  Aubry  avoided  speaking  to  any  of  the  officers. 
"  It's  impossible  to  get  on !  "  cried  the  corporal.  Every 
street  was  crowded  with  infantry,  cavalry,  and  especially 
with  artillery  caissons  and  baggage  wagons.  The  corporal 
tried  to  get  up  three  of  these  streets,  but  after  about  twenty 
paces  he  was  forced  to  stop.  Everybody  was  swearing, 
and  everybody  was  in  a  rage. 

"  Some  other  traitor  must  be  in  command ! "  cried  the 
corporal.  "  If  the  enemy  has  the  sense  to  move  round  the 
village  we  shall  all  be  taken  like  dogs.  Follow  me,  men  1 " 
Fabrizio  looked;  there  were  only  six  soldiers  left  of  the 
corporal's  party.  Through  a  big,  open  doorway  they  passed 
into  a  great  poultry-yard,  and  thence  into  a  stable,  from 
which  a  little  door  admitted  them  into  a  garden.  Here 
they  lost  their  way  for  a  moment,  and  wandered  hither  and 
thither.  But  at  last,  climbing  over  a  hedge,  they  found 
themselves  in  a  huge  field  of  buckwheat,  and  within  less 
than  half  an  hour,  following  the  noise  of  shouting  and  other 
confused  sounds,  they  had  got  back  into  the  high-road  on 
the  other  side  of  the  village. 

The  ditches  on  either  side  of  the  road  were  full  of 
muskets  which  had  been  thrown  away,  and  Fabrizio 
took  one  for  himself.  But  the  road,  broad  as  it  was, 
was  so  crowded  with  carts  and  fugitives  that  in  half 
an  hour  the  corporal  and  Fabrizio  had  hardly  got  five 
hundred  paces  forward.  They  were  told  that  the  road 
would  lead  them  to  Charleroi.  As  the  village  clock  struck 
eleven — 

"  Let  us  strike  across  country  again,"  cried  the  cor- 
poral.   The  little  band  now  only  consisted  of  three  privates, 

57 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  corporal,  and  Fabrizio.  When  they  had  got  about  a 
quarter  of  a  league  from  the  high-road — 

"  I'm  done  up !  "  said  one  of  the  soldiers. 

"  And  so  am  I,"  said  another. 

"  That's  fine  news !  We're  all  in  the  same  boat,"  said 
the  corporal.  "  But  do  as  I  tell  you,  and  you'll  be  the 
better  for  it."  He  caught  sight  of  five  or  six  trees  grow- 
ing beside  a  little  ditch  in  the  middle  of  an  immense  field 
of  corn. 

"  Make  for  the  trees,"  said  he  to  his  men.  "  Lie  down 
here,"  he  added  when  they  had  reached  them,  "  and,  above 
all,  make  no  noise.  But  before  we  go  to  sleep,  which  of 
you  has  any  bread  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  said  one  of  the  soldiers. 

"  Hand  it  over,"  commanded  the  corporal,  with  a  mas- 
terful air.  He  divided  the  bread  into  five  pieces,  and  took 
the  smallest  for  himself. 

"  A  quarter  of  an  hour  before  daybreak,"  he  said  as  he 
munched,  "  you'll  have  the  enemy's  cavalry  upon  you.  The 
great  point  is  not  to  get  yourselves  run  through.  On  these 
great  plains  one  man  alone  with  cavalry  at  his  heels  is  done 
for,  but  five  men  together  may  save  themselves.  All  of 
you  stick  faithfully  to  me,  don't  fire  except  at  close  quarters, 
and  I'll  undertake  to  get  you  into  Charleroi  to-morrow 
night."  An  hour  before  daybreak  the  corporal  roused 
them ;  he  made  them  reload  their  weapons.  The  noise  on 
the  highway  still  continued ;  it  had  been  going  on  all  night, 
like  the  noise  of  a  distant  torrent. 

"  It's  like  the  noise  sheep  make  when  they  are  running 
away,"  said  Fabrizio  to  the  corporal,  with  an  artless  air. 

"  Will  you  hold  your  tongue,  you  greenhorn  ? "  said 
the  corporal  angrily,  and  the  three  privates,  who,  with 
Fabrizio,  composed  the  whole  of  his  army,  looked  at  our 
hero  with  an  expression  of  indignation,  as  if  he  had  said 
something  blasphemous.     He  had  insulted  the  nation ! 

"  This  is  rather  strong,"  thought  our  hero  to  himself. 
"  I  noticed  the  same  sort  of  thing  at  Milan  under  the 
viceroy.  They  are  not  running  away — oh,  dear,  no !  With 
these  Frenchmen  you  must  never  tell  the  truth  if  it  hurts 

58 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

their  vanity.  But  as  for  their  angry  looks,  I  don't  care  a 
farthing  for  them,  and  I  must  make  them  understand  it." 
They  were  still  marching  along  some  five  hundred  paces 
from  the  stream  of  fugitives  which  blocked  the  high-road. 
A  league  farther  on  the  corporal  and  his  party  crossed  a 
lane  running  into  the  high-road,  in  which  many  soldiers  were 
lying.  Here  Fabrizio  bought  a  tolerable  horse  for  forty 
francs,  and  from  among  the  numerous  swords  that  were 
lying  about  he  carefully  chose  a  long,  straight  weapon. 
"  As  I  am  told  I  must  thrust,"  he  thought,  "  this  will  be  the 
best."  Thus  equipped,  he  put  his  horse  into  a  canter,  and 
soon  came  up  with  the  corporal,  who  had  gone  forward; 
he  settled  himself  in  his  stirrups,  seized  the  sheath  of  his 
sword  with  his  left  hand,  and  addressed  the  four  French- 
men. "  These  fellows  who  are  fleeing  along  the  highway 
look  like  a  flock  of  sheep ;  they  move  like  frightened 
sheep ! " 

In  vain  did  he  dwell  upon  the  word  sheep ;  his  comrades 
had  quite  forgotten  that  only  an  hour  previously  it  had 
kindled  their  ire.  Here  we  perceive  one  of  the  contrasts 
between  the  French  and  the  Italian  character;  the  French- 
man is  doubtless  the  happier  of  the  two — events  glide  over 
him ;  he  bears  no  spite. 

I  will  not  conceal  the  fact  that  Fabrizio  was  very  much 
pleased  with  himself  after  he  had  talked  about  those  sheep. 
They  marched  along,  keeping  up  a  casual  conversation. 
Two  leagues  farther  on  the  corporal,  who  was  very  much 
astonished  at  seeing  nothing  of  the  enemy's  cavalry,  said  to 
Fabrizio : 

"  You  are  our  cavalry,  so  gallop  toward  that  farm  on  the 
hillock  yonder,  and  ask  the  peasant  if  he'll  sell  us  some 
breakfast.  Be  sure  you  tell  him  there  are  only  five  of  us. 
If  he  demurs,  give  him  five  francs  of  your  money,  on  ac- 
count ;  but  make  your  mind  easy,  we'll  take  the  silver  piece 
back  after  we've  had  our  breakfast." 

Fabrizio  looked  at  the  corporal ;  his  gravity  was  imper- 
turbable, and  he  really  wore  an  appearance  of  moral  supe- 
riority. He  obeyed,  and  everything  fell  out  just  as  the 
commander-in-chief  had  foretold,  only  Fabrizio  insisted  the 

59 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

peasant  should  not  be  forced  to  return  the  five-franc  piece 
he  had  paid  him. 

"  The  money  is  my  own,"  said  he  to  his  comrades.  "  I'm 
not  paying  for  you ;  I'm  paying  for  the  corn  he  has  given 
my  horse." 

Fabrizio's  French  was  so  bad  that  his  comrades  thought 
they  detected  a  tone  of  superiority  about  his  remark ;  they 
were  very  much  offended,  and  from  that  instant  they  began 
to  hatch  a  quarrel  with  him.  They  saw  he  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  themselves,  and  that  fact  displeased  them.  Fa- 
brizio,  on  the  contrary,  began  to  feel  exceedingly  friendly 
toward  them.  They  had  been  marching  along  silently  for 
about  two  hours  when  the  corporal,  looking  toward  the 
high-road,  shouted  in  a  transport  of  delight,  "  There's  the 
regiment !  "  They  were  soon  on  the  high-road  themselves, 
but  alas,  there  were  not  two  hundred  men  round  the  eagle ! 
Fabrizio  soon  caught  sight  of  the  cantiniere;  she  was  walk- 
ing along  with  red  eyes,  and  every  now  and  then  her  tears 
overflowed.  In  vain  did  Fabrizio  peer  about,  looking  for 
Cocotte  and  the  little  cart. 

"  Pillaged !  lost !  stolen !  "  cried  the  poor  woman,  in  an- 
swer to  our  hero's  inquiring  glance.  Without  a  word  he 
threw  himself  from  his  horse,  took  him  by  the  bridle,  and 
said  to  her,  "  Get  on  his  back !  "  She  didn't  wait  for  a  sec- 
ond invitation.  "  Shorten  the  stirrups  for  me,"  she  said. 
Once  she  was  comfortably  settled  on  horseback,  she  began 
to  tell  Fabrizio  all  the  disasters  of  the  preceding  night. 

After  an  endless  story,  eagerly  listened  to,  however,  by 
our  hero,  who  could  make  nothing  of  it,  we  must  admit,  but 
who  had  a  deep  feeling  of  regard  for  the  good-natured 
cantiniere,  she  added,  "  And  to  think  that  it  should  be 
Frenchmen  who  have  robbed,  and  beaten,  and  ruined  me !  " 

"  What !  it  wasn't  the  enemy  ?  "  cried  Fabrizio,  with  an 
artlessness  which  made  his  handsome  face,  so  grave  and 
pale,  look  more  charming  than  ever. 

"  What  a  silly  you  are,  my  poor  child ! "  returned  the 
woman,  smiling  through  her  tears ;  "  and  silly  as  you  are, 
you  are  a  very  good  fellow." 

"  And  however  silly  he  may  be,  he  pulled  his  Prussian 

60 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

down  well  yesterday,"  added  Corporal  Aubry,  who  had  hap- 
pened to  find  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  other  side 
of  the  horse  on  which  the  good  woman  was  riding.  "  But 
he's  proud,"  said  the  corporal.  Fabrizio  started  a  little. 
"  And  what's  your  name  ?  "  continued  he.  "  For,  after  all, 
if  any  report  is  sent  in,  I  should  like  to  give  it." 

"  My  name  is  Vasi,"  answered  Fabrizio,  with  rather  an 
odd  look.    "  I  mean,"  correcting  himself  hastily,  "  Boulot." 

Boulot  had  been  the  name  of  the  owner  of  the  route 
papers  the  jailer's  wife  had  given  him.  Two  nights  before, 
as  he  marched  along,  he  had  studied  them  carefully,  for  he 
was  beginning  to  reflect  a  little,  and  was  not  so  astonished 
by  everything  that  happened  to  him  as  he  had  been  at  first. 
In  addition  to  poor  Boulot's  papers  he  had  also  carefully 
kept  the  Italian  passport  according  to  which  he  claimed 
the  noble  name  of  Vasi,  dealer  in  barometers.  When  the 
corporal  had  taxed  him  with  being  proud  it  had  been  on 
the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  reply,  "  Proud !  I,  Fabrizio  Valserra, 
Marchesino  del  Dongo,  who  is  willing  to  bear  the  name 
of  a  dealer  in  barometers  called  Vasi  ?  " 

While  he  was  considering  all  this  and  saying  to  him- 
self, "  I  must  really  remember  that  my  name  is  Boulot,  or 
I  shall  find  myself  in  the  prison  with  which  Fate  threatens 
me,"  the  corporal  and  the  cantiniere  had  been  exchanging 
ideas  about  him. 

"  Don't  take  what  I  say  for  mere  curiosity,"  said  the 
cantiniere,  and  she  dropped  the  second  person  singular, 
which,  in  her  homely  fashion,  she  had  hitherto  been  using. 
"  I'm  going  to  ask  you  these  questions  for  your  own  good. 
Who  are  you,  really  and  truly  ?  " 

Fabrizio  was  silent  for  a  moment;  he  was  considering 
that  he  might  never  come  across  better  friends  from  whom 
to  ask  advice,  and  advice  he  sorely  needed.  "  We  are  going 
into  a  fortified  town ;  the  governor  will  want  to  know  who 
I  am,  and  if  my  answers  show  that  I  know  nothing  about 
the  hussar  regiment,  the  uniform  of  which  I  wear,  I  shall 
be  thrown  into  prison  at  once."  Being  an  Austrian  sub- 
ject, Fabrizio  realized  all  the  importance  of  his  passport. 
The  members  of  his  own  family,  highly  born  and  religious 

6i 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

as  they  were,  had  suffered  frequent  annoyance  in  this  par- 
ticular. The  good  woman's  questions  were  not,  therefore, 
the  least  displeasing  to  him,  but  when  he  paused  before 
replying  to  choose  out  his  clearest  French  expressions,  the 
cantiniere,  pricked  with  eager  curiosity,  added  by  way  of 
encouragement,  "  We'll  give  you  good  advice  about  your 
behaviour,  Corporal  Aubry  and  I." 

"  I'm  sure  of  that,"  answered  Fabrizio.  "  My  name  is 
Vasi,  and  I  belong  to  Genoa ;  my  sister,  who  was  a  famous 
beauty,  married  a  captain.  As  I  am  only  seventeen,  she 
sent  for  me  that  I  might  see  France  and  improve  myself.  I 
did  not  find  her  in  Paris,  and  knowing  she  was  with  this 
army  I  followed  it,  and  have  hunted  in  every  direction  with- 
out being  able  to  find  her.  The  soldiers,  struck  by  my  for- 
eign accent,  had  me  arrested.  I  had  money  at  that  time ; 
I  gave  some  to  the  gendarme  in  charge  of  me.  He  gave  me 
papers  and  a  uniform,  and  said,  '  Be  off  with  you,  and  swear 
you'll  never  mention  my  name  to  a  living  soul.'  " 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  "  said  the  cantiniere. 

"  I  gave  my  word,"  said  Fabrizio. 

"  He's  right,"  said  the  corporal.  "  The  gendarme  was 
a  blackguard,  but  our  comrade  mustn't  tell  his  name.  And 
what  was  the  name  of  the  captain  who  married  your  sister? 
If  we  knew  his  name  we  might  find  him." 

"  Teulier,  of  the  Fourth  Hussars,"  answered  our  hero. 

"  Then,"  said  the  corporal  rather  sharply,  "  your  for- 
eign accent  made  the  soldiers  take  you  for  a  spy  ?  " 

"  That's  the  vile  word !  "  cried  Fabrizio,  and  his  eyes 
flamed.  "  I,  who  worship  the  Emperor  and  the  French — 
that  insult  hurts  me  more  than  anything !  " 

"  There's  no  insult ;  there's  where  you're  mistaken,"  re- 
plied the  corporal  gravely,  "  The  soldiers'  mistake  was  very 
natural." 

Then  he  explained,  with  more  than  a  little  pedantry,  that 
in  the  army  every  man  must  belong  to  a  regiment  and  wear 
a  uniform,  and,  failing  that,  would  certainly  be  taken  for 
a  spy. 

"  The  enemy,"  he  said,  "  has  sent  us  heaps  of  them.  In 
this  war  traitors  abound." 

62 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  scales  fell  from  Fabrizio's  eyes,  and  for  the  first 
time  he  understood  that  in  everything  that  had  happened 
to  him  during  the  past  two  months  he  himself  had  been 
at  fault. 

"  But  the  boy  must  tell  us  the  whole  story,"  said  the  can- 
tiniere,  whose  curiosity  was  momentarily  growing  keener. 

Fabrizio  obeyed,  and  when  he  had  finished — 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  she  seriously,  and  addressing  the 
corporal,  "  the  child  knows  nothing  about  soldiering.  This 
war  will  be  a  wretched  war,  now  that  we  are  beaten  and 
betrayed.  Why  should  he  get  his  bones  broken,  gratis 
pro  Deo! " 

"  And  with  that,"  said  the  corporal,  "  he  doesn't  even 
know  how  to  load  his  gun,  either  in  slow  time  or  in  quick ! 
It  was  I  who  put  in  the  bullet  that  killed  his  Prussian  for 
him." 

"  And,  besides,"  added  the  cantiniere,  "  he  lets  everybody 
see  his  money,  and  he'll  be  stripped  of  everything  as  soon 
as  he  leaves  us." 

"  And  the  first  cavalry  sergeant  he  comes  across,"  the 
corporal  went  on,  "  will  take  possession  of  him  and  make 
him  pay  for  his  drinks,  and  he  may  even  be  recruited  for 
the  enemy,  for  there's  treachery  everywhere.  The  first 
man  he  meets  will  tell  him  to  follow  him,  and  follow  him 
he  will!  He  would  do  much  better  to  enlist  in  our  regi- 
ment." 

"  Not  so,  I  thank  you,  corporal,"  cried  Fabrizio  eagerly. 
"  I'm  much  more  comfortable  on  horseback ;  and,  besides, 
I  don't  know  how  to  load  a  musket,  and  you've  seen  that 
I  can  manage  a  horse." 

Fabrizio  was  very  proud  of  this  little  speech  of  his.  I 
will  not  reproduce  the  long  discussion  as  to  his  future 
which  ensued  between  the  corporal  and  the  cantiniere. 

Fabrizio  remarked  that  in  the  course  of  it  they  repeated 
all  the  incidents  of  his  story  three  or  four  times  over — the 
soldiers'  suspicions ;  the  gendarme  who  sold  him  the  uni- 
form and  the  papers ;  the  manner  in  which  he  had  fallen  in 
with  the  marshal's  escort  on  the  previous  day ;  the  story  of 
the  horse,  etc.    The  cantiniere,  with  feminine  curiosity,  con- 

63 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

stantly  harked  back  to  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been 
robbed  of  the  good  horse  she  had  made  him  buy. 

"  You  felt  somebody  seize  your  feet,  you  were  drawn 
gently  over  your  horse's  tail,  and  were  left  sitting  on  the 
ground," 

"  Why  is  it,"  wondered  Fabrizio,  "  that  they  keep  going 
over  things  which  we  all  know  perfectly  well !  "  He  had  not 
yet  learned  that  this  is  the  method  whereby  the  humbler 
folk  in  France  think  a  matter  out. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  ?  "  inquired  the  cantiniere 
of  him.  Fabrizio  answered  unhesitatingly;  he  was  sure  of 
this  woman's  noble-heartedness — that  is  the  finest  side  of  the 
French  character. 

"  I  may  have  about  thirty  napoleons  in  gold,  and  eight 
or  ten  five-franc  pieces,  altogether." 

"  In  that  case  your  course  is  clear,"  cried  the  cantiniere. 
"  Get  yourself  out  of  this  routed  army,  turn  off  to  one  side, 
take  the  first  tolerable  road  you  can  find  on  the  right,  ride 
steadily  forward,  away  from  the  army  always.  Buy  yourself 
civilian  clothes  at  the  first  opportunity.  When  you  are  eight 
or  ten  leagues  oflf,  and  you  see  no  more  soldiers  about  you, 
take  post-horses,  get  to  some  good  town,  and  rest  there  for 
a  week,  and  eat  good  beefsteaks.  Never  tell  any  one  that 
you  have  been  with  the  army;  the  gendarmes  would  take 
you  up  at  once  as  a  deserter,  and,  nice  fellow  as  you  are, 
my  boy,  you  are  not  sharp  enough  yet  to  take  in  the 
gendarmes.  Once  you  have  civilian  clothes  upon  your 
back,  tear  your  route  papers  into  little  bits,  and  take  back 
your  real  name.  Say  you're  Vasi — and  where  should  he  say 
he  comes  from  ?  "  she  added,  appealing  to  the  corporal. 

"  From  Cambray,  on  the  Scheldt — it's  a  good  old  town, 
very  small,  do  you  hear?  with  a  cathedral — and  Fenelon." 

"  That's  it,"  said  the  cantiniere,  "  and  never  let  out  that 
you've  been  in  the   battle,  never  breathe  a  word  about 

B nor  the  gendarme  who  sold  you  the  papers.    When 

you  want  to  get  back  to  Paris,  go  first  of  all  to  Versailles, 
and  get  into  the  city  from  that  side,  just  dawdling  along  on 
your  feet  as  if  you  were  out  for  a  walk.  Sew  your  money 
into  your  trousers,  and  when  you  have  to  pay  for  anything, 

64 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

mind  you  only  show  just  the  money  you  need  for  that. 
What  worries  me  is  that  you'll  be  made  a  fool  of,  and  you'll 
be  stripped  of  everything  you  have.  And  what  is  to  be- 
come of  you  without  money,  seeing  you  don't  even  know 
how  to  behave  ?  " 

The  good  woman  talked  on  and  on,  the  corporal  backing 
her  opinions  by  nodding  his  head,  for  she  gave  him  no 
chance  of  getting  in  a  word.  Suddenly  the  crowd  upon 
the  high-road  quickened  its  pace,  and  then,  like  a  flash,  it 
crossed  the  little  ditch  on  the  left-hand  side  and  fled  at 
full  speed. 

"  The  Cossacks,  the  Cossacks !  "  rang  out  on  every  side. 

"  Take  back  your  horse,"  cried  the  cantiniere. 

"  God  forbid !  "  said  Fabrizio.  "  Gallop !  be  off !  I  give 
him  to  you.  Do  you  want  money  to  buy  another  little 
cart?    Half  of  what  I  have  is  yours." 

"  Take  back  your  horse,  I  say,"  said  the  good  woman 
in  a  rage,  and  she  tried  to  get  off.  Fabrizio  drew  his  sword. 
"  Hold  on  tight !  "  he  cried,  and  he  struck  the  horse  two 
or  three  times  with  the  flat  of  the  blade.  It  broke  into 
a  gallop  and  followed  the  fugitives. 

Our  hero  looked  at  the  high-road.  Only  a  few  min- 
utes before  it  had  been  crowded  with  some  two  or  three 
thousand  people,  packed  like  peasants  in  a  religious  pro- 
cession. 

Since  that  cry  of  "  Cossacks  "  there  was  not  a  soul  upon 
it.  The  fugitives  had  thrown  away  their  shakos,  their 
muskets,  and  their  swords. 

Fabrizio,  thoroughly  astonished,  climbed  about  twenty 
or  thirty  feet  into  a  field  on  the  right  of  the  road;  thence 
he  looked  up  and  down  the  high-road  and  across  the  plain. 
There  was  not  a  sign  of  any  Cossack.  "  Queer  people, 
these  Frenchmen,"  said  he  to  himself.  Then  he  went  on: 
"  As  I  am  to  go  to  the  right,  I  may  as  well  start  at  once. 
These  people  may  have  had  some  reason  for  bolting  which 
I  don't  know."  He  picked  up  a  musket,  made  sure  it  was 
loaded,  shook  the  powder  in  the  priming,  cleaned  the  flint, 
then  chose  himself  a  well-filled  cartridge  pouch  and  looked 
all  round  him  again.    He  stood  literally  alone  in  the  middle 

65 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

of  the  plain,  which  had  lately  been  so  packed  with  people. 
In  the  far  distance  he  saw  the  fugitives  still  running  along 
and  beginning  to  disappear  behind  the  trees.  "  This  really 
is  very  odd,"  he  said.  And  remembering  the  corporal's 
manoeuvre  on  the  preceding  night,  he  went  and  sat  down 
in  the  middle  of  a  cornfield.  He  would  not  go  far  away, 
because  he  hoped  to  rejoin  his  friends  the  corporal  and  the 
cantini^re. 

Sitting  in  the  corn,  he  discovered  he  had  only  eighteen 
napoleons  left,  instead  of  thirty,  but  he  had  a  few  little  dia- 
monds which  he  had  hidden  in  the  lining  of  his  hussar  boots 
on  the  morning  of  his  parting  with  the  jailer's  wife.  He 
concealed  his  gold  pieces  as  best  he  could,  and  pondered 
deeply  the  while  over  this  sudden  disappearance  of  his  fel- 
low-travellers. 

"  Is  it  a  bad  omen  for  me  ?  "  he  wondered.  His  chief 
vexation  was  that  he  had  not  asked  Corporal  Aubry  the 
following  question :  "  Have  I  really  been  in  a  battle  ?  "  He 
thought  he  had,  and  he  would  have  been  perfectly  happy  if 
he  could  have  been  quite  certain  of  it. 

"  In  any  case,"  he  said,  "  I  was  present  at  it  under  a 
prisoner's  name,  and  I  had  the  prisoner's  route  papers  in 
my  pocket,  and  even  his  coat  upon  my  back.  All  that  is 
fatal  for  my  future.  What  would  Father  Blanes  have  said 
of  it?  And  that  unlucky  Boulot  died  in  prison,  too.  It  all 
looks  very  ominous.  My  destiny  will  lead  me  to  a  prison !  " 
Fabrizio  would  have  given  anything  in  the  world  to  know 
whether  Boulot  had  really  been  guilty.  He  had  a  recollec- 
tion that  the  jailer's  wife  had  told  him  the  hussar  had  been 
locked  up,  not  only  for  stealing  spoons  and  forks,  but  for 
having  robbed  a  peasant  of  his  cow,  and  further  beaten  the 
said  peasant  unmercifully.  He  had  no  doubt  that  he  him- 
self would  some  day  find  himself  in  prison  for  misdoings 
ot  the  same  nature  as  those  of  the  hussar.  He  thought  of 
his  friend  the  priest.  What  would  he  not  have  given  to  be 
able  to  consult  him !  Then  he  recollected  that  he  had  not 
written  to  his  aunt  since  he  left  Paris.  "  Poor  Gina !  "  he 
said,  and  the  tears  rose  to  his  eyes.  All  at  once  he  heard  a 
slight  noise  close  to  him.     It  was  a  soldier  feeding  three 

66 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

horses,  whose  bridles  he  had  removed  and  who  seemed 
half  dead  with  hunger,  on  the  growing  corn. 

He  was  holding  them  by  the  snaffle.  Fabrizio  flew  up 
like  a  partridge,  and  the  soldier  was  startled.  Our  hero,  per- 
ceiving it,  could  not  resist  the  pleasure  of  playing  the  hus- 
sar for  a  moment.  "  Fellow,"  he  shouted,  "  one  of  those 
horses  is  mine,  but  I  will  give  you  five  francs  for  the  trouble 
you've  taken  to  bring  it  to  me ! "  "I  wish  you  may  get 
it,"  said  the  soldier.  Fabrizio,  who  was  within  six  paces, 
levelled  his  musket  at  him.  "  Give  up  the  horse,  or  I'll 
blow  your  brains  out !  "  The  soldier  had  his  musket  slung 
behind  him ;  he  twisted  his  shoulder  back  to  get  at  it.  "  If 
you  stir  a  step  you're  a  dead  man !  "  shouted  Fabrizio,  rush- 
ing at  him.  "  Well,  well !  hand  over  the  five  francs,  and 
take  one  of  the  horses,"  said  the  soldier,  rather  crestfallen, 
after  glancing  regretfully  up  and  down  the  road,  on  which 
not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen.  Fabrizio,  with  his  gun  still  raised 
in  his  left  hand,  threw  him  three  five-franc  pieces  with  the 
right.  "  Get  down,  or  you're  a  dead  man !  Put  the  bit  on 
the  black  horse,  and  move  ofif  with  the  others.  I'll  blow 
your  brains  out  if  you  shuffle !  "  With  an  evil  glance  the 
man  obeyed.  Fabrizio  came  close  to  the  horse  and  slipped 
the  bridle  over  his  left  arm  without  taking  his  eyes  oflf  the 
soldier,  who  was  slinking  slowly  away.  When  he  saw  he 
was  about  fifty  paces  oflf  our  hero  sprang  upon  the  horse's 
back.  He  had  hardly  got  into  the  saddle,  and  his  foot  was 
still  searching  for  the  right  stirrup,  when  a  bullet  whistled 
close  beside  his  head ;  it  was  the  soldier  who  had  fired  his 
musket  at  him.  Fabrizio,  in  a  fury,  galloped  toward  him. 
He  took  to  his  heels,  and  was  soon  galloping  away  on  one 
of  his  horses.  "  Well,  he's  out  of  range  now,"  said  Fabrizio 
to  himself.  The  horse  he  had  just  bought  was  a  splendid 
animal,  but  it  seemed  to  be  almost  starving.  Fabrizio  went 
back  to  the  high-road,  which  was  still  quite  deserted;  he 
crossed  it,  and  trotted  on  toward  a  little  undulation  in  the 
ground  on  the  left,  where  he  hoped  he  might  find  the  can- 
tiniere,  but  when  he  reached  the  top  of  the  tiny  eminence 
he  could  only  see  a  few  scattered  soldiers  more  than  a  leagfue 
away.     He  sighed.     "  It  is  written,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am 

67 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

never  to  see  that  good  kind  woman  again !  "  He  went  to  a 
farm  which  he  had  noticed  in  the  distance,  on  the  right  of 
the  road.  Without  dismounting  he  fed  his  poor  horse  with 
oats,  which  he  paid  for  beforehand.  It  was  so  starving  that 
it  actually  bit  at  the  manger.  An  hour  later  he  was  trotting 
along  the  high-road,  still  in  the  vague  hope  that  he  might 
find  the  cantiniere,  or  at  all  events  come  across  Corporal 
Aubry.  As  he  pushed  steadily  forward,  looking  about  on 
every  side,  he  came  to  a  marshy  stream,  spanned  by  a  nar- 
row wooden  bridge.  Near  the  entrance  to  the  bridge  and 
on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road  stood  a  lonely  house, 
which  displayed  the  sign  of  the  White  Horse.  "  I'll  have 
my  dinner  there,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself.  Beside  the 
bridge  was  a  cavalry  officer  with  his  arm  in  a  sling.  He 
was  sitting  on  his  horse  and  looked  very  sad.  Ten  paces 
from  him  three  dismounted  troopers  were  busy  with  their 
pipes. 

"  Those  fellows,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  look  very 
much  as  if  they  might  be  inclined  to  buy  my  horse  even 
cheaper  than  the  price  I've  paid  for  him."  The  wounded 
officer  and  the  three  men  on  foot  were  watching  him,  and 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  him.  "  I  really  ought  to  avoid 
that  bridge  and  follow  the  river  bank  on  the  right;  that's 
what  the  cantiniere  would  advise  me  to  do,  to  get  out  of  the 
difficulty.  Yes,"  said  our  hero  to  himself,  "  but  if  I  take  to 
flight  I  shall  be  ashamed  of  it  to-morrow.  Besides,  my 
horse  has  good  legs,  and  the  officer's  horse  is  probably  tired 
out.  If  he  tries  to  dismount  me  I'll  take  to  my  heels." 
Reasoning  thus,  Fabrizio  shook  his  horse  together  and  rode 
on  as  slowly  as  possible. 

"  Come  on,  hussar ! "  shouted  the  officer,  with  a  voice 
of  authority.  Fabrizio  came  on  a  few  steps,  and  then  halted. 
"  Do  you  want  to  take  my  horse  from  me  ?  "  he  called  out. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !    Come  on !  " 

Fabrizio  looked  at  the  officer.  His  mustache  was 
white,  he  had  the  most  honest  face  imaginable,  the  handker- 
chief which  supported  his  left  arm  was  covered  with  blood, 
and  his  right  hand  was  also  wrapped  in  a  bloody  bandage. 
**  It's  those  men  on  foot  who  will  snatch  at  the  horse's 

68 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

bridle,"  thought  Fabrizio ;  but  when  he  looked  closer  he 
saw  that  the  men  on  foot  were  wounded  as  well. 

"  In  the  name  of  all  that's  honourable,"  said  the  officer, 
who  wore  a  colonel's  epaulettes,  "  keep  watch  here,  and  tell 
every  dragoon,  light-cavalry  man,  and  hussar  you  may  see 
that  Colonel  Le  Baron  is  in  the  inn  there,  and  that  he  orders 
them  to  report  themselves  to  him."  The  old  colonel  looked 
broken-hearted.  His  very  first  words  had  won  our  hero's 
heart,  and  he  replied  very  sensibly,  "  I'm  very  young,  sir ; 
perhaps  nobody  would  listen  to  me.  I  ought  to  have  a  writ- 
ten order  from  you." 

"  He's  right,"  said  the  colonel,  looking  hard  at  him. 
"  Write  the  order.  La  Rose ;  you  can  use  your  right  hand." 
Without  a  word.  La  Rose  drew  a  little  parchment-covered 
book  from  his  pocket,  wrote  a  few  words,  tore  out  the  leaf, 
and  gave  it  to  Fabrizio.  The  colonel  repeated  his  orders, 
adding  that  Fabrizio  would  be  relieved  after  two  hours,  as 
was  only  fair,  by  one  of  the  wounded  soldiers  who  were  with 
him.  This  done,  he  went  into  the  tavern  with  his  men. 
Fabrizio,  so  greatly  had  he  been  struck  by  the  silent  and 
dreary  sorrow  of  the  three  men,  sat  motionless  at  the  end 
of  the  bridge,  watching  them  disappear.  "  They  were  like 
enchanted  genii,"  said  he  to  himself.  At  last  he  opened  the 
folded  paper,  and  read  the  following  order: 

"  Colonel  Le  Baron,  Sixth  Dragoons,  commanding  the 
Second  Brigade  of  the  First  Cavalry  Division  of  the  Four- 
teenth Corps,  orders  all  cavalry,  dragoons,  light-cavalry  men, 
and  hussars  not  to  cross  the  bridge,  and  to  report  themselves 
to  him  at  his  headquarters,  the  White  Horse  Tavern,  close 
to  the  bridge. 

"  Dated.    Headquarters,  close  to  the  bridge  over 

the  Sainte.    June  19,  181 5. 
"  Signed  for  Colonel  Le  Baron,  wounded  in  the 
right  arm,  and  by  his  orders. 

"  Sergeant  La  Rose." 

Fabrizio  had  hardly  kept  guard  on  the  bridge  for  half 
an  hour  when  six  light-cavalry  men  mounted,  and  three  on 

69 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

foot,  approached  him.  He  gave  them  the  colonel's  order. 
"  We  are  coming  back,"  said  four  of  the  mounted  men,  and 
they  crossed  the  bridge  at  full  trot.  By  that  time  Fabrizio 
was  engaged  with  the  two  others.  While  the  altercation 
grew  warmer  the  three  men  on  foot  slipped  over  the  bridge. 
One  of  the  two  remaining  mounted  men  ended  by  asking  to 
see  the  order,  and  carried  it  of¥,  saying,  "  I'll  take  it  to  my 
comrades,  who  are  sure  to  come  back ;  you  wait  patiently  for 
them,"  and  he  galloped  off  with  his  companion  after  him. 
The  whole  thing  was  done  in  an  instant. 

Fabrizio,  in  a  fury,  beckoned  to  one  of  the  wounded 
soldiers  who  had  appeared  at  one  of  the  tavern  windows. 
The  man,  whom  Fabrizio  observed  to  be  wearing  a  ser- 
geant's stripes,  came  downstairs,  and  shouted,  as  he  drew 
near  him,  "  Draw  your  sword,  sir !  Don't  you  know  you're 
on  duty  ?  "  Fabrizio  obeyed,  and  then  said,  "  They've  car- 
ried off  the  order !  " 

"  They're  still  savage  over  yesterday's  business,"  an- 
swered the  other  drearily.  "  I'll  give  you  one  of  my  pistols. 
If  they  break  through  again  fire  it  in  the  air,  and  I'll  come 
down,  or  the  colonel  will  make  his  appearance." 

Fabrizio  had  noticed  the  gesture  of  surprise  with  which 
the  sergeant  had  received  the  intelligence  that  the  order  had 
been  carried  off.  He  had  realized  that  the  incident  was  a  per- 
sonal insult  to  himself,  and  was  resolved  that  nothing  of  the 
sort  should  happen  in  future.  He  had  gone  back  proudly  to 
his  post,  armed  with  the  sergeant's  pistol,  when  he  saw  seven 
hussars  come  riding  up.  He  had  placed  himself  across  the 
entrance  to  the  bridge.  He  gave  them  the  colonel's  order, 
which  vexed  them  very  much.  The  boldest  tried  to  get 
across.  Fabrizio,  obeying  the  wise  advice  of  his  friend  the 
cantiniere,  who  had  told  him  the  previous  morning  that  he 
must  cut  and  not  thrust,  lowered  the  point  of  his  big  straight 
sword,  and  made  as  though  he  would  have  run  through 
anybody  who  disobeyed  the  order. 

"  Ha !  the  greenhorn  wants  to  kill  us,  as  if  we  had  not 
been  killed  enough  yesterday ! "  They  all  drew  their 
swords,  and  fell  upon  Fabrizio.  He  gave  himself  up  for 
dead,  but  he  remembered  the  look  of  surprise  on  the  ser- 

70 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

geant's  face,  and  resolved  he  would  not  be  despised  a  second 
time.  He  backed  slowly  over  his  bridge,  trying  to  thrust 
with  his  point  as  he  went.  He  looked  so  queer,  with  his 
great  straight  cavalry  sword,  much  too  heavy  for  him,  and 
which  he  did  not  know  how  to  handle,  that  the  hussars 
soon  saw  who  they  had  to  do  with.  Then  they  tried  not  to 
wound  him,  but  to  cut  his  coat  off  his  back.  He  thus  re- 
ceived three  or  four  small  sword  cuts  on  the  arm.  Mean- 
while, faithful  to  the  cantiniere's  advice,  he  kept  on  thrusting 
with  all  his  might.  Unluckily  one  of  his  lunges  wounded 
a  hussar  in  the  hand.  The  man,  furious  at  being  touched 
by  such  a  soldier,  replied  with  a  violent  thrust  which 
wounded  Fabrizio  in  the  thigh.  The  wound  was  all  the 
deeper  because  our  hero's  charger,  instead  of  escaping  from 
the  melee,  seemed  to  delight  in  it,  and  to  throw  himself  de- 
liberately on  the  assailants.  The  hussars,  seeing  Fabrizio's 
blood  running  down  his  right  arm,  were  afraid  they  had 
gone  too  far,  and,  forcing  him  over  to  the  left  parapet  of 
the  bridge,  they  galloped  off.  The  instant  Fabrizio  was 
free  for  a  moment  he  fired  his  pistol  in  the  air  to  warn  the 
colonel. 

Four  mounted  hussars  and  two  on  foot  belonging  to  the 
same  regiment  as  the  last  had  been  coming  toward  the 
bridge,  and  were  still  two  hundred  paces  off  when  the 
pistol  shot  rang  out.  They  were  carefully  watching  what 
happened  on  the  bridge,  and  thinking  Fabrizio  had  fired 
upon  their  comrades,  the  four  mounted  men  galloped  down 
upon  him,  brandishing  their  swords;  it  was  a  regular 
charge.  Colonel  Le  Baron,  summoned  by  the  pistol  shot, 
opened  the  tavern  door,  rushed  on  to  the  bridge  just  as  the 
hussars  galloped  up  to  it,  and  himself  ordered  them  to  halt. 

"  There's  no  colonel  here,"  cried  one  of  the  men,  and 
he  spurred  his  horse.  The  colonel  in  his  anger  broke  off 
his  remonstrance,  and  seized  the  rein  of  the  horse  on  the  off 
side  with  his  wounded  hand.  "  Halt,  sir !  "  he  cried  to  the 
hussar.  "  I  know  you.  You  belong  to  Captain  Henriet's 
company." 

"  Well,  then,  let  the  captain  give  me  his  orders !  Captain 
Henriet  was  killed  yesterday,"  he  added  with  a  sneer,  "  and 

71 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

you  may  go  and  be  damned ! "  As  he  spoke  he  tried  to 
force  his  way  through,  and  knocked  over  the  old  colonel, 
who  fell  in  a  sitting  posture  on  the  floor  of  the  bridge. 
Fabrizio,  who  was  two  paces  farther  on  the  bridge,  but 
facing  the  tavern,  urged  his  horse  furiously  forward,  and 
while  the  hussar's  horse  overthrew  the  colonel,  who  still 
clung  to  the  off  rein,  he  thrust  vehemently  and  angrily  at 
its  rider.  Luckily  the  man's  horse,  which  was  dragged 
downward  by  the  bridle,  on  to  which  the  colonel  was  still 
hanging,  started  to  one  side,  so  that  the  long  blade  of  Fa- 
brizio's  heavy  cavalry  sword  slipped  along  the  hussar's 
waistcoat  and  came  right  out  under  his  nose.  The  hussar, 
in  his  fury,  turned  round  and  hacked  at  Fabrizio  with  all 
his  strength,  cutting  through  his  sleeve  and  making  a  deep 
wound  in  his  arm.  Our  hero  tumbled  off  his  horse.  One 
of  the  dismounted  hussars,  seeing  the  two  defenders  of  the 
bridge  lying  on  the  ground,  seized  his  opportunity,  sprang 
on  to  Fabrizio's  horse,  and  would  have  galloped  it  off  the 
bridge  and  away,  but  the  sergeant,  who  had  hurried  up  from 
the  tavern,  had  seen  his  colonel  fall,  and  believed  him  to 
be  seriously  wounded.  He  ran  after  Fabrizio's  horse,  and 
plunged  the  point  of  his  sword  into  the  thief's  back,  so  that 
he,  too,  fell.  Then  the  hussars,  seeing  nobody  but  the  ser- 
geant standing  on  the  bridge,  galloped  across  it  and  rode 
rapidly  away. 

The  sergeant  went  to  look  after  the  wounded.  Fabrizio 
had  already  picked  himself  up  ;  he  was  not  in  much  pain,  but 
he  was  losing  a  great  deal  of  blood.  The  colonel  rose  to  his 
feet  more  slowly;  he  was  quite  giddy  from  his  fall,  but  he 
was  not  wounded  at  all. 

"  The  only  thing  that  hurts  me,"  he  said  to  his  sergeant, 
"  is  the  old  wound  in  my  hand."  The  hussar  whom  the  ser- 
geant had  wounded  was  dying. 

"  The  devil  may  take  him !  "  cried  the  colonel.  "  But," 
said  he  to  the  sergeant  and  the  two  other  troopers  who  now 
hurried  up,  "  look  after  this  boy,  whose  life  I  did  wrong 
to  endanger.  I  will  stay  at  the  bridge  myself,  and  try  to  stop 
these  madmen.  Take  the  young  fellow  to  the  inn  and  dress 
his  arm.    Use  one  of  my  shirts  for  bandages."  ' 

72 


CHAPTER  V 

The  whole  affair  had  not  lasted  more  than  a  minute. 
Fabrizio's  wounds  were  of  the  most  trifling  description ;  his 
arm  was  bound  up  in  strips  torn  off  one  of  the  colonel's 
shirts.    He  was  offered  a  bed  in  the  upper  story  of  the  inn. 

"  But  while  I  am  lying  comfortably  here,"  said  Fabrizio 
to  the  sergeant,  "  my  horse  will  feel  lonely  in  the  stable,  and 
may  take  himself  off  with  another  master." 

"  Not  bad,  for  a  recruit,"  said  the  sergeant,  and  he  set- 
tled Fabrizio  on  some  clean  straw  in  the  very  manger  to 
which  his  horse  was  tied. 

Then,  as  Fabrizio  felt  very  faint,  he  brought  him  a  bowl 
of  hot  wine  and  talked  to  him  for  a  while.  Certain  compli- 
ments included  in  this  conversation  made  our  hero  feel  as 
happy  as  a  king. 

It  was  near  daybreak  on  the  following  morning  when 
Fabrizio  awoke.  The  horses  were  neighing  long  and  loud, 
and  making  a  terrible  racket.  The  stable  was  full  of  smoke. 
At  first  Fabrizio  could  make  nothing  of  the  noise,  and  did 
not  even  reahze  where  he  was.  At  last,  when  the  smoke 
had  half  stifled  him,  it  struck  him  that  the  house  was  on 
fire ;  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  was  out  of  the  stable  and 
on  his  horse's  back.  He  looked  up  and  saw  the  smoke 
pouring  out  of  the  two  windows  above  the  stable,  and  the 
roof  of  the  house  hidden  in  a  black,  whirling  cloud.  A  good 
hundred  fugitives  had  reached  the  tavern  during  the  night, 
and  all  of  them  were  shouting  and  swearing  at  once.  The 
five  or  six  who  were  close  to  Fabrizio  seemed  to  him  to  be 
completely  drunk.  One  of  them  tried  to  stop  him,  shout- 
ing, "  Where  are  you  taking  my  horse  ?  " 

When  Fabrizio  had  gone  about  a  quarter  of  a  league  he 
looked  back.  Nobody  was  following  him ;  the  house  was 
blazing.    He  recognised  the  bridge,  thought  of  his  wound, 

71 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  touched  his  arm,  which  felt  hot  and  tight  in  the  band- 
ages. And  what  had  become  of  the  old  colonel  ?  "  He 
gave  his  shirt  to  bind  up  my  arm."  That  morning  our  hero 
was  the  coolest  and  most  collected  man  in  the  world;  the 
quantities  of  blood  he  had  lost  had  washed  all  the  romantic 
qualities  out  of  his  character. 

"  To  the  right,"  said  he,  "  and  let  us  be  off."  He  quietly 
followed  the  course  of  the  river,  which,  after  passing  under 
the  bridge,  flowed  toward  the  right  side  of  the  road.  He 
remembered  the  good  cantiniere's  advice.  "  What  true 
friendship !  "  said  he  to  himself ;  "  what  an  honest  soul !  " 

After  an  hour  he  began  to  feel  very  weak,  "  Now 
then,"  he  thought,  "  am  I  going  to  faint  ?  If  I  faint  some- 
body will  steal  my  horse,  and  perhaps  my  clothes,  and  with 
my  clothes  my  valuables."  He  had  not  strength  to  guide 
his  horse,  and  was  doing  his  best  to  keep  steady  in  the 
saddle,  when  a  peasant  digging  in  a  field  hard  by  the  high- 
road noticed  his  pallor,  and  offered  him  a  glass  of  beer  and 
a  bit  of  bread. 

"  Seeing  you  so  pale,"  said  the  man,  "  I  thought  you 
might  have  been  wounded  in  the  great  battle."  Never  did 
help  come  more  in  the  nick  of  time.  When  Fabrizio  began 
to  chew  that  morsel  of  black  bread  his  eyes  had  begun  to 
sting  when  he  looked  in  front  of  him.  When  he  had 
pulled  himself  together  a  little  he  thanked  his  benefactor. 
"  And  where  am  I  ?  "  he  inquired.  The  peasant  informed 
him  that  three  quarters  of  a  league  farther  on  he  would 
find  the  little  town  of  Zonders,  where  he  would  be  well 
cared  for.  Fabrizio  reached  the  town  without  well  know- 
ing what  he  was  doing,  his  only  care  being  how  not  to 
fall  off  at  every  step  his  horse  took.  He  saw  a  big  gate 
standing  open  and  rode  through  it ;  it  led  to  a  tavern,  The 
Currycomb.  The  good-natured  mistress  of  the  house,  an 
exceedingly  fat  woman,  ran  forward,  calling  for  help  in  a 
voice  that  shook  with  pity.  Two  young  girls  assisted  Fa- 
brizio to  dismount.  Before  he  was  well  out  of  his  saddle  he 
fainted  dead  away.  A  surgeon  was  summoned  and  he  was 
bled.  On  that  day  and  those  following  it  he  hardly  knew 
what  was  being  done  to  him.    He  slept  almost  incessantly. 

74 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  puncture  in  his  leg  threatened  to  turn  into  a  serious 
abscess.  Whenever  he  was  in  his  senses  he  begged  that 
care  might  be  taken  of  his  horse,  and  frequently  reiterated 
that  he  would  pay  well,  which  mightily  offended  the  good 
hostess  and  her  daughters.  He  had  been  admirably  tended 
for  a  fortnight,  and  was  beginning  to  collect  his  thoughts 
a  little,  when  he  noticed,  one  evening,  that  his  nurses  seemed 
very  much  disturbed.  Presently  a  German  officer  entered 
his  room.  The  language  in  which  his  questions  were  an- 
swered was  one  which  Fabrizio  did  not  understand,  but  he 
clearly  perceived  that  he  himself  was  the  subject  of  the  con- 
versation ;  he  pretended  to  be  asleep.  Some  time  afterward, 
when  he  thought  the  officer  must  have  departed,  he  called  his 
hostess. 

"  Did  not  that  officer  come  to  write  my  name  down  on 
a  list  and  take  me  prisoner  ?  " 

With  tears  in  her  eyes  his  hostess  admitted  the  fact. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  cried,  raising  himself  up  in  his  bed, 
"there's  money  in  my  pocket.  Buy  me  civilian  clothes, 
and  this  very  night  I'll  ride  away.  You've  saved  my  life 
once  already  by  taking  me  in  when  I  should  have  fallen  and 
died  in  the  street.  Save  it  again  by  helping  me  to  get  back 
to  my  mother." 

At  this  point  the  landlady's  daughters  both  burst  into 
tears.  They  trembled  for  Fabrizio's  safety,  and  as  they 
could  hardly  understand  any  French,  they  came  close  to  his 
bed  to  question  him.  They  held  a  discussion  with  their 
mother  in  Flemish,  but  every  moment  their  wet  eyes  turned 
pityingly  upon  our  hero.  He  thought  he  gathered  that  his 
flight  might  compromise  them  seriously,  but  that  they  were 
ready  to  take  the  risk.  He  clasped  his  hands  together  and 
thanked  them  earnestly. 

A  local  Jew  undertook  to  provide  him  with  a  suit  of 
clothes,  but  when  he  brought  it,  about  ten  o'clock  that 
night,  the  young  ladies  discovered,  by  comparing  the  coat 
with  Fabrizio's  hussar  jacket,  that  it  was  a  great  deal  too 
large  for  him.  They  set  to  work  on  it  at  once;  there  was 
no  time  to  be  lost.  Fabrizio  showed  them  several  napoleons 
hidden  in  his  garments,  and  begged  them  to  sew  them  into 

75 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

those  which  had  just  been  bought.  With  the  suit  the  Jew 
had  brought  a  fine  pair  of  new  boots.  Fabrizio  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  ask  the  kind-hearted  girls  to  cut  open  his  hussar 
boots  at  the  place  he  showed  them,  and  his  little  diamonds 
were  soon  hidden  in  the  lining  of  his  new  foot-gear. 

A  singular  result  of  his  loss  of  blood,  and  his  conse- 
quent weakness,  was  that  Fabrizio  had  almost  entirely  for- 
gotten his  French.  He  talked  to  his  hostesses  in  Italian,  and 
as  they  spoke  nothing  but  their  Flemish  patois,  intercourse 
was  really  carried  on  solely  by  signs.  When  the  young 
girls,  perfectly  disinterested  as  they  were,  beheld  the  dia- 
monds, their  admiration  for  our  hero  knew  no  bounds. 
They  were  convinced  he  was  a  prince  in  disguise.  Aniken, 
the  younger  and  more  artless  of  the  two,  kissed  him  without 
further  ceremony.  Fabrizio,  for  his  part,  thought  them 
charming,  and  toward  midnight,  when,  in  consideration  of 
the  journey  he  was  about  to  take,  the  surgeon  had  allowed 
him  to  drink  a  little  wine,  he  was  half  inclined  not  to  depart 
at  all. 

"  Where  could  I  be  better  off  than  I  am  here  ?  "  he  said. 
Nevertheless,  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  got  up 
and  dressed.  Just  as  he  was  leaving  his  room  the  kindly 
hostess  informed  him  that  his  horse  had  been  carried  off 
by  the  officer  who  had  searched  the  house  a  few  hours 
previously. 

"  Ah,  the  blackguard !  "  cried  Fabrizio,  "  to  play  such 
a  trick  on  a  wounded  man !  "  and  he  began  to  swear.  Our 
young  Italian  was  not  enough  of  a  philosopher  to  recollect 
the  price  he  himself  had  paid  for  the  horse. 

Aniken  told  him,  through  her  tears,  that  a  horse  had 
been  hired  for  him.  If  she  could  have  had  her  will  he  would 
not  have  started  at  all.  The  parting  was  a  tender  one.  Two 
tall  young  fellows,  the  good  landlady's  kinsmen,  lifted  Fa- 
brizio into  his  saddle  and  walked  along,  holding  him  up, 
while  a  third  preceded  the  little  party  by  a  few  hundred 
paces,  on  the  lookout  for  any  suspicious  patrol  upon  the 
road.  After  two  hours'  journey  a  halt  was  made  at  the 
house  of  a  cousin  of  the  hostess  of  The  Currycomb.  In 
spite  of  all  Fabrizio  could  say  he  could  not  induce  the 

76 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

young  men  to  leave  him.  Nobody,  they  declared,  knew 
the  paths  through  the  forest  as  well  as  they ! 

"  But  to-morrow  morning,  when  my  escape  becomes 
known,  and  you  are  not  seen  in  the  neighbourhood,  your 
absence  will  get  you  into  trouble,"  urged  Fabrizio. 

A  fresh  start  was  made,  and  by  good  luck,  when  daylight 
came,  a  heavy  fog  shrouded  the  plain.  Toward  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning  they  were  near  a  small  town.  One  of  the 
young  men  went  on  to  see  whether  the  post-horses  had  all 
been  stolen.  The  postmaster  had  been  able  to  hide  them, 
and  to  fill  up  his  stables  with  vile  screws  instead.  Two 
horses  were  fetched  out  of  the  swamps  where  they  had  been 
concealed,  and  three  hours  later  Fabrizio  clambered  into  a 
little  cabriolet,  shabby  enough,  but  drawn  by  two  excellent 
posters.  He  felt  stronger  already ;  his  parting  with  the  host- 
esses' young  kinsmen  was  pathetic  in  the  extreme.  Never — 
not  under  one  of  the  friendly  pretexts  Fabrizio  could  in- 
vent— could  he  induce  them  to  accept  a  halfpenny. 

"  In  your  condition,  sir,  you  need  it  much  more  than 
we  do,"  was  the  honest  young  fellows*  invariable  reply. 
They  departed  at  last,  bearing  letters  in  which  Fabrizio, 
somewhat  steadied  by  the  excitement  of  his  journey,  had 
endeavoured  to  express  all  he  felt  for  his  benefactresses. 
The  tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he  wrote,  and  in  his  letter  to 
little  Aniken  some  love  passages  certainly  occurred. 

Nothing  extraordinary  happened  during  the  rest  of  his 
journey.  When  he  reached  Amiens  the  sword  thrust  in 
his  thigh  was  causing  him  great  suffering.  The  country 
surgeon  had  not  thought  of  keeping  the  wound  open,  and  in 
spite  of  the  bleeding,  an  abscess  had  formed.  During  the 
fortnight  Fabrizio  spent  in  the  inn  at  Amiens,  kept  by  an 
obsequious  and  covetous  family,  the  allies  were  overrunning 
France,  and  so  deeply  did  our  hero  reflect  upon  his  late 
experiences  that  he  became  another  man.  There  was  only 
one  point  on  which  he  still  remained  a  child.  Had  the  fight- 
ing he  had  seen  really  been  a  battle?  and,  secondly,  Was 
it  the  battle  of  Waterloo? 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found  pleasure  in  read- 
ing ;  he  was  always  hoping  to  discover  in  the  newspapers  or 

77 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  descriptions  of  the  battle  something  which  would  en- 
able him  to  recognise  the  ground  he  had  ridden  over  with 
Marshal  Ney's  and  the  other  general's  escort.  During  his 
stay  at  Amiens  he  wrote  almost  every  day  to  his  good 
friends  of  the  Currycomb  Inn.  As  soon  as  he  was  cured 
he  went  to  Paris.  At  his  former  hotel  he  found  twenty  let- 
ters from  his  mother  and  his  aunt,  all  beseeching  him  to  re- 
turn as  quickly  as  possible.  The  last  one  from  the  Countess 
Pietranera  was  couched  in  a  sort  of  enigmatic  tone  which 
alarmed  him  very  much.  This  letter  dispelled  all  his  tender 
dreams.  To  a  man  of  his  nature  a  word  sufficed  to  stir  up 
apprehensions  of  the  gravest  kind,  and  his  imagination  im- 
mediately depicted  misfortunes  aggravated  by  the  most 
gruesome  details. 

"  Be  careful  not  to  sign  your  letters  when  you  write  us 
news  of  yourself,"  said  the  countess.  "  When  you  return 
you  must  not  come  straight  to  the  Lake  of  Como.  Stop 
in  Swiss  territory,  at  Lugano."  He  was  to  arrive  at  that  little 
town  under  the  name  of  Cavi ;  there,  at  the  principal  inn,  he 
was  to  find  his  aunt's  man-servant,  who  would  tell  him  what 
he  was  to  do  next.  The  countess  closed  her  letter  with  the 
following  words :  "  Use  every  means  to  conceal  the  folly 
you  have  committed,  and,  above  all,  keep  no  paper,  whether 
written  or  printed,  about  you !  In  Switzerland  you  will  be 
surrounded  by  the  friends  of  Ste.-Marguerite.*  If  I  have 
money  enough  I  will  send  somebody  to  the  Hotel  des 
Balances,  at  Geneva,  to  give  you  details  which  I  can  not 
write,  and  which,  nevertheless,  you  must  have  before  you 
arrive.  But  for  God's  sake,  not  another  day  in  Paris;  our 
spies  there  will  recognise  you ! " 

Fabrizio's  imagination  began  to  picture  the  most  ex- 
traordinary things,  and  the  only  pleasure  of  which  he  was 
capable  was  that  of  trying  to  guess  what  the  amazing  fact 
might  be,  with  which  his  aunt  desired  to  acquaint  him. 
Twice,  during  his  journey  across  France,  he  was  arrested, 

*  This  name,  thanks  to  Signer  Pellico,  is  known  all  over  Europe. 
It  is  that  of  the  street  in  Milan  in  which  the  Ministry  of  Police  and 
the  prisons  are  situated. 

78 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

but  each  time  he  contrived  to  obtain  his  release.  These 
annoyances  he  owed  to  his  Italian  passport,  and  that  strange 
title  of  "  dealer  in  barometers,"  which  tallied  so  ill  with 
his  youthful  countenance,  and  his  arm  in  a  sling. 

At  Geneva,  at  last,  he  met  one  of  his  aunt's  serving-men, 
who  told  him,  from  her,  that  he,  Fabrizio,  had  been  de- 
nounced to  the  Milanese  police,  as  having  gone  over  to 
Napoleon  with  proposals  formulated  by  a  huge  conspiracy 
organized  in  his  late  Kingdom  of  Italy.  "  If  this  was  not 
the  object  of  his  journey,"  said  his  accuser,  "  why  should 
he  have  taken  a  false  name  ?  "  His  mother  would  endeavour 
to  prove  the  truth ;  firstly,  that  he  had  never  gone  beyond 
Switzerland,  and,  secondly,  that  he  had  left  the  castle  hastily 
in  consequence  of  a  quarrel  with  his  elder  brother. 

When  Fabrizio  heard  the  story,  his  first  feeling  was  one 
of  pride.  "  I've  been  taken  for  a  sort  of  ambassador  to 
Napoleon ;  I  am  supposed  to  have  had  the  honour  of  speak- 
ing to  that  great  man.  Would  to  God  it  had  been  so ! " 
He  recollected  that  his  ancestor  seven  generations  back, 
grandson  of  that  Valserra  who  had  come  to  Milan  with 
Sforza,  underwent  the  honour  of  having  his  head  cut  off 
by  the  duke's  enemies,  who  laid  hands  upon  him  as  he  was 
going  into  Switzerland,  to  carry  proposals  to  the  cantons  and 
to  collect  recruits.  He  could  see,  in  his  mind's  eye,  the  en- 
graving recording  this  fact  in  the  family  genealogy.  When 
Fabrizio  cross-questioned  the  man-servant,  he  found  him  in 
a  fury  about  a  matter  which  he  let  slip  at  last,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  the  countess  had  told  him  several  times  over  to 
hold  his  tongue  about  it.  It  was  Fabrizio's  elder  brother, 
Ascanio,  who  had  denounced  him  to  the  Milanese  police. 
This  cruel  fact  threw  our  hero  into  a  state  bordering  on 
madness.  To  get  into  Italy  from  Geneva,  it  was  necessary 
to  pass  through  Lausanne.  He  insisted  on  starting  in- 
stantly on  foot,  and  walking  ten  or  twelve  leagues,  although 
the  diligence  from  Geneva  to  Lausanne  was  to  depart  within 
two  hours.  Before  he  left  Geneva,  he  had  a  quarrel  in  one 
of  the  dreary  cafes  of  the  place,  with  a  young  man  who,  so 
he  declared,  had  looked  at  him  strangely.  It  was  perfectly 
true.     The  phlegmatic,  sensible  young  citizen,  who  never 

79 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

thought  of  anything  but  making  money,  believed  him  to 
be  mad.  When  Fabrizio  entered  the  cafe,  he  had  cast  wild 
glances  about  him  on  every  side,  and  then  spilled  the  cup 
of  coflFee  he  had  ordered  over  his  trousers.  In  this  quarrel, 
Fabrizio's  first  instinctive  movement  was  quite  in  the  style 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  Instead  of  suggesting  a  duel  to 
the  young  Genevan,  he  drew  his  dagger  and  threw  himself 
upon  him  to  strike  him.  In  that  moment  of  fury  Fabrizio 
forgot  everything  he  had  learned  concerning  the  code  of 
honour,  and  fell  back  on  the  instinct — or  I  should  rather  say 
on  the  memories — of  his  early  boyhood. 

The  confidential  servant  whom  he  met  at  Lugano  in- 
creased his  rage  by  relating  fresh  details.  Fabrizio  was  very 
much  loved  at  Grianta,  and  nobody  would  ever  have  men- 
tioned his  name.  But  for  his  brother's  spiteful  proceeding 
every  one  would  have  pretended  to  believe  he  was  at  Milan, 
and  the  attention  of  the  police  would  never  have  been 
drawn  to  his  absence.  "  You  may  be  quite  certain  that  the 
customs  officers  hold  a  description  of  your  appearance," 
said  his  aunt's  messenger,  "  and  if  we  travel  by  the  high-road 
you  will  be  stopped  on  the  frontier." 

Fabrizio  and  his  attendants  knew  every  mountain-path 
between  Lugano  and  the  Lake  of  Como.  They  disguised 
themselves  as  hunters — in  other  words,  as  smugglers — and 
as  they  were  three  together,  and  resolute-looking  fellows 
into  the  bargain,  the  customs  officers  they  met  did  no  more 
than  greet  them  civilly.  Fabrizio  arranged  matters  so  as  to 
arrive  at  the  castle  about  midnight.  At  that  hour  his  father 
and  all  the  servants  with  powdered  heads  were  sure  to  be 
safe  in  their  beds.  Without  any  difficulty  he  dropped  into 
the  deep  ditch  and  entered  the  castle  by  a  small  window 
opening  out  of  a  cellar.  Here  his  mother  and  his  aunt  were 
awaiting  him.  Very  soon  his  sisters  joined  them.  For  a 
long  time  they  were  all  in  such  a  transport  of  tenderness 
and  tears,  that  they  had  hardly  begun  to  talk  sensibly  before 
the  first  rays  of  dawn  warned  these  beings,  who  believed 
themselves  unhappy,  that  time  was  slipping  by. 

"  I  hope  your  brother  will  not  have  suspected  your  re- 
turn ! "   said   the    Countess   Pietranera.     "  I   have   hardly 

80 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

spoken  to  him  since  this  fine  prank  of  his,  and  his  vanity  did 
me  the  honour  of  being  very  much  hurt.  To-night,  at  sup- 
per, I  condescended  to  address  him — I  had  to  find  some 
pretext  for  hiding  my  wild  delight,  which  might  have  roused 
his  suspicions.  Then,  when  I  perceived  how  proud  he  was 
of  this  sham  reconciliation,  I  took  advantage  of  his  satis- 
faction to  make  him  drink  a  great  deal  more  than  was  good 
for  him,  and  he  will  certainly  not  have  thought  of  lying  in 
ambush  to  carry  on  his  spying  operations." 

"  It's  in  your  room  that  we  must  hide  our  hussar,"  said 
the  marchesa.  "  He  can  not  start  at  once.  We  have  not 
collected  our  thoughts  sufficiently  as  yet,  and  we  must 
choose  the  best  way  of  throwing  that  terrible  Milanese 
police  off  the  scent." 

This  idea  was  promptly  put  into  practice.  But  on  the 
following  day  the  marchese  and  his  eldest  son  remarked  that 
the  marchesa  spent  all  her  time  in  her  sister-in-law's  apart- 
ment. We  will  not  depict  the  passion  of  joy  and  tenderness 
that  filled  these  happy  beings'  hearts  during  the  whole  of 
that  day.  The  Italian  nature  is  much  more  easily  wrung 
than  ours  by  the  suspicions  and  wild  fancies  born  of  a  fever- 
ish imagination.  But  its  joys,  on  the  other  hand,  are  far 
deeper  than  ours,  and  last  much  longer.  During  the  whole 
of  that  day  the  countess  and  the  marchesa  were  absolutely 
beside  themselves ;  they  made  Fabrizio  begin  all  his  stories 
over  and  over  again.  At  last,  so  difficult  did  any  further 
concealment  of  their  feelings  from  the  sharp  eyes  of  the 
marchese  and  his  son  Ascanio  appear,  that  they  decided  to 
betake  themselves  to  Milan,  and  there  conceal  their  mutual 
ecstasy. 

The  ladies  took  the  usual  boat  belonging  to  the  castle 
as  far  as  Como ;  any  other  course  would  have  aroused  innu- 
merable suspicions.  But  when  they  reached  the  port  of 
Como,  the  marchesa  recollected  that  she  had  left  papers  of 
the  most  important  description  at  Grianta.  She  sent  the 
boatmen  back  at  once,  and  they  were  thus  deprived  of  all 
opportunity  of  noticing  the  manner  in  which  the  two  ladies 
employed  their  time  at  Como.  The  moment  the  latter  ar- 
rived, they  hired  one  of  the  carriages  that  always  stand  near 

8i 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  high  tower,  built  in  the  middle  ages,  which  rises  above 
the  Milan  gate,  and  started  off  at  once,  without  giving  the 
coachman  time  to  speak  to  a  soul.  About  a  quarter  of  a 
league  beyond  the  town,  they  fell  in  with  a  young  sportsman 
of  their  acquaintance,  who,  as  they  had  no  gentleman  with 
them,  was  good-natured  enough  to  attend  them  to  the  gates 
of  Milan,  whither  he  himself  was  bound,  shooting  on  the  way. 
Everything  promised  well,  and  the  ladies  were  talking  most 
merrily  to  the  young  traveller  when,  just  where  the  road 
bends  round  the  base  of  the  pretty  hill  and  wood  of  San 
Giovanni,  three  gendarmes  in  disguise  sprang  to  the  horses' 
heads.  "  Ah !  "  cried  the  marchesa,  "  my  husband  has  be- 
trayed us !  "  and  she  fainted  away. 

A  sergeant  of  gendarmes,  who  had  been  standing  some- 
what in  the  background,  approached  the  carriage.  He 
stumbled  as  he  walked,  and  spoke  in  a  voice  that  was  red- 
olent of  the  tavern :  "  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  perform  this 
duty,  but  I  arrest  you.  General  Fabio  Conti ! "  Fabrizio 
thought  the  sergeant  was  poking  fun  at  him  by  calling  him 
general.  "  I'll  pay  you  out  for  this,"  thought  he  to  himself. 
He  had  his  eye  on  the  gendarmes,  and  was  watching  his  op- 
portunity to  leap  from  the  carriage  and  take  to  his  heels 
across  the  fields. 

The  countess  smiled — at  a  venture,  as  I  think — and  then 
said  to  the  sergeant,  "  But,  my  good  sergeant,  do  you  take 
this  child  of  sixteen  years  old  to  be  General  Conti !  " 

"  Are  you  not  the  general's  daughter  ?  "  said  the  ser- 
geant. 

"  Behold  my  father ! "  said  the  countess,  pointing  to 
Fabrizio.    The  gendarmes  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Show  your  passports,  and  don't  bandy  words ! "  said 
the  sergeant,  nettled  by  the  general  mirth. 

"  These  ladies  never  take  any  passport  to  go  to  Milan," 
said  the  coachman,  with  a  cool  and  philosophic  air ;  "  they 
are  coming  from  their  house  at  Grianta.  This  one  is  the 
Countess  Pietranera,  and  that  one  is  the  Marchesa  del 
Dongo." 

The  sergeant,  quite  put  out  of  countenance,  went  to  the 
horses*  heads,  and  there  held  council  with  his  men.    The 

82 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

conference  had  lasted  quite  five  minutes,  when  the  countess 
begged  the  carriage  might  be  moved  a  few  paces  farther 
into  the  shade;  the  heat  was  overwhelming,  though  it 
was  only  eleven  o'clock  in  the  day.  Fabrizio,  who  had  been 
looking  about  carefully  in  all  directions,  with  a  view  to  mak- 
ing his  escape,  noticed,  emerging  from  a  field  path  which 
led  on  to  the  dusty  road,  a  young  girl  of  fourteen  or  fifteen, 
with  her  handkerchief  to  her  face,  shedding  frightened 
tears.  She  walked  between  two  gendarmes  in  uniform, 
and  three  paces  behind  her,  also  flanked  by  gendarmes,  came 
a  tall,  bony  man,  who  gave  himself  dignified  airs,  like  a 
prefect  walking  in  a  procession. 

"  But  where  did  you  find  them  ?  "  said  the  sergeant,  who 
now  appeared  quite  drunk. 

"  Running  away  across  the  fields,  and  not  a  passport  be- 
tween them !  "  The  sergeant  seemed  to  have  quite  lost  his 
bearings.  He  had  five  prisoners  now,  instead  of  the  two 
he  had  been  sent  out  to  take.  He  retired  a  little  distance, 
leaving  only  one  man  to  look  after  the  prisoner  with  the 
majestic  demeanour,  and  another  to  keep  the  horses  from 
moving  on. 

"  Stay  here,"  whispered  the  countess  to  Fabrizio,  who 
had  already  jumped  out  of  the  carriage.  "  It  will  all  come 
right." 

They  heard  a  gendarme  exclaim :  "  What  does  it  matter  ? 
If  they  have  no  passports  we  have  a  right  to  take  them  up." 

The  sergeant  did  not  seem  quite  so  sure.  The  name  of 
Pietranera  had  alarmed  him.  He  had  known  the  general, 
and  he  was  not  aware  of  his  death.  "  The  general,"  he  re- 
flected, "  is  not  the  man  to  forego  his  vengeance  if  I  arrest 
his  wife  without  authority." 

During  this  deliberation,  which  was  somewhat  lengthy, 
the  countess  had  entered  into  conversation  with  the  young 
girl,  who  was  still  standing  in  the  dust,  on  the  road  beside 
the  carriage.    She  had  been  struck  by  her  beauty. 

"  The  sun  will  do  you  harm,  signorina.  That  honest 
soldier,"  she  added,  addressing  the  gendarme  standing  at 
the  horses'  heads,  "  will  let  you  get  into  the  carriage,  I  am 
sure ! "     Fabrizio,  who  was  prowling  round  the  carriage, 

83 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

came  forward  to  help  the  young  lady  into  it.  She  had  her 
foot  on  the  step,  and  Fabrizio's  hand  was  under  her  arm, 
when  the  imposing  individual,  who  was  standing  six  paces 
behind  the  carriage,  called  out,  in  a  voice  that  his  desire 
to  look  dignified  made  yet  more  rasping :  "  Stop  on  the 
road!  Do  not  get  into  a  carriage  which  does  not  belong 
to  you !  "  Fabrizio  had  not  heard  this  order.  The  young 
girl,  instead  of  trying  to  get  up,  tried  to  get  down,  and  as 
Fabrizio  still  held  her,  she  fell  into  his  arms.  He  smiled, 
and  she  blushed  deeply;  for  a  moment  after  the  girl  had 
freed  herself  from  his  clasp  they  stood  looking  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

"  What  a  charming  prison  companion !  "  said  Fabrizio  to 
himself.  "  What  deep  thoughts  lie  behind  that  brow  1  That 
woman  would  know  how  to  love ! " 

The  sergeant  approached  with  an  air  of  importance. 

"  Which  of  these  ladies  is  called  Clelia  Conti  ?  " 

"  I,"  said  the  young  girl. 

"  And  I,"  exclaimed  the  elderly  man,  "  I  am  General 
Fabio  Conti,  Chamberlain  to  his  Serene  Highness  the 
Prince  of  Parma,  and  I  think  it  most  improper  that  a  man 
of  my  position  should  be  hunted  like  a  thief !  " 

"  The  day  before  yesterday,  when  you  embarked  at  the 
port  of  Como,  did  you  not  send  the  police  inspector,  who 
asked  you  for  your  passport,  about  his  business?  Well, 
to-day  the  inspector  prevents  you  from  going  about  your 
business." 

"  My  boat  had  already  pushed  oflf  from  the  shore,  I  was 
in  a  hurry,  a  storm  was  coming  on,  a  man  without  a  uniform 
shouted  to  me  from  the  pier  to  come  back  into  the  port.  I 
told  him  my  name,  and  I  went  on  my  way." 

"  And  this  morning  you  sneaked  out  of  Como !  " 

"  A  man  in  my  position  does  not  take  out  a  passport  to 
go  from  Milan  to  see  the  lake.  This  morning,  at  Como,  I 
was  told  I  should  be  arrested  at  the  gate.  I  left  the  town 
on  foot  with  my  daughter.  I  hoped  I  might  meet  with  some 
carriage  on  the  road,  which  would  take  me  to  Milan,  where 
my  first  visit  will  certainly  be  to  the  general  commanding  the 
province,  to  lay  my  complaint  before  him." 

84 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  sergeant  seemed  relieved  of  a  great  weight. 

"  Very  good,  general,  you  are  under  arrest,  and  I  shall 
take  you  to  Milan. — ^And  who  are  you  ?  "  he  said,  turning  to 
Fabrizio. 

"  My  son,"  put  in  the  countess,  "  Ascanio,  son  of  Gen- 
eral Pietranera." 

"  Without  a  passport,  madam  ?  "  said  the  sergeant,  very 
much  more  politely. 

"  He  is  so  young !  He  has  never  had  one ;  he  never 
travels  alone ;  he  is  always  with  me !  " 

While  this  colloquy  was  proceeding,  General  Conti  had 
been  growing  more  and  more  dignified,  and  more  and  more 
angry  with  the  gendarmes. 

"  Not  so  many  words ! "  said  one  of  them  at  last ; 
"  you're  arrested,  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

"  You'll  be  very  lucky,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  if  we  give 
you  leave  to  hire  a  horse  from  some  peasant!  Otherwise, 
in  spite  of  the  dust  and  the  heat,  and  your  chamberlain- 
ship,  you'll  just  march  along  among  our  horses." 

The  general  began  to  swear. 

"Will  you  hold  your  tongue?"  said  the  gendarme. 
"  Where's  your  uniform  ?  Any  man  who  chooses  can  say 
he  is  a  general." 

The  general  grew  more  and  more  furious.  In  the  car- 
riage, meanwhile,  matters  were  going  far  better. 

The  countess  was  making  all  the  gendarmes  run  about 
as  if  they  had  been  her  servants.  She  had  just  given  one 
of  them  a  crown  to  go  and  fetch  her  some  wine,  and  above 
all  some  cool  water,  from  a  villa  which  stood  about  two  hun- 
dred paces  off.  She  had  found  time  to  pacify  Fabrizio,  who 
was  most  anxious  to  bolt  into  the  wood  that  clothed  the 
hill.  "  I  have  two  good  pistols,"  he  kept  saying.  She  per- 
suaded the  angry  general  to  let  his  daughter  get  into  her 
carriage.  On  this  occasion  the  general,  who  was  fond  of 
talking  of  himself  and  his  family,  informed  the  ladies  that 
his  daughter  was  only  twelve  years  old,  having  been  bom 
on  October  27,  1803,  but  that  she  was  so  sensible  that 
every  one  took  her  for  fourteen  or  fifteen. 

"  Quite  a  common  person,"  was  the  verdict  which  the 

85 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

countess's  eyes  telegraphed  to  the  marchesa's.  In  an  hour's 
time,  thanks  to  the  former  lady,  everything  was  settled. 
One  of  the  gendarmes,  who  had  business  in  the  adjoining 
village,  hired  his  horse  to  General  Conti,  after  the  countess 
had  told  him  he  would  have  ten  francs  for  it. 

The  sergeant  departed  alone  with  the  general,  and  his 
comrades  remained  under  a  tree,  with  four  huge  bottles  of 
wine  which  the  gendarme,  with  the  assistance  of  a  peasant, 
had  brought  back  from  the  villa.  The  worthy  chamberlain 
authorized  Clelia  Conti  to  accept  a  seat  in  the  ladies'  car- 
riage back  to  Milan,  and  the  idea  of  arresting  the  gallant 
General  Pietranera's  son  never  entered  anybody's  head. 
After  the  first  moments  devoted  to  general  civilities,  and 
remarks  on  the  little  incident  just  brought  to  a  close,  Clelia 
Conti  noticed  the  touch  of  enthusiasm  evident  in  the  beauti- 
ful countess's  manner  when  she  spoke  to  Fabrizio.  Clelia 
was  sure  she  was  not  his  mother.  More  especially  was  her 
attention  attracted  by  the  constant  allusions  to  something 
bold,  heroic,  dangerous  in  the  highest  degree,  which  he 
had  lately  done.  But  what  that  might  be  the  young  girl, 
clever  as  she  was,  could  not  divine.  She  gazed  in  wonder 
on  the  young  hero,  whose  eyes  still  seemed  to  sparkle  with 
the  fire  of  action.  He,  on  his  side,  was  somewhat  taken 
aback  by  the  singular  beauty  of  the  twelve-year-old  girl,  and 
his  glances  brought  the  colour  to  her  cheeks. 

About  a  league  from  Milan,  Fabrizio  took  leave  of 
the  ladies,  saying  he  must  go  and  see  his  uncle,  "  If  ever 
I  get  out  of  my  difficulties,"  said  he,  addressing  Clelia, 
"  I  shall  go  and  see  the  great  pictures  at  Parma.  Will 
you  deign,  then,  to  remember  this  name — Fabrizio  del 
Dongo  ?  " 

"  Very  good !  "  said  the  countess.  "  So  that's  how  you 
keep  your  incognito !  Signorina,  be  good  enough  to  re- 
member that  this  scamp  is  my  son,  and  that  his  narrie  is 
Pietranera,  and  not  Del  Dongo !  " 

That  evening,  very  late,  Fabrizio  entered  Milan  by  the 
Renza  gate,  which  leads  to  a  fashionable  promenade.  The 
very  modest  hoards  amassed  by  the  marchesa  and  her  sister 
had  been  exhausted  by  the  expense  of  sending  servants  into 

86 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Switzerland.  Luckily  Fabrizio  still  had  a  few  napoleons, 
and  one  of  the  diamonds,  which  they  decided  to  sell. 

The  two  ladies  were  much  beloved,  and  knew  everybody 
in  the  city.  The  leading  members  of  the  Austrian  and  re- 
ligious party  spoke  to  Baron  Binder,  the  chief  of  the  police, 
in  Fabrizio's  favour.  These  gentlemen  could  not  under- 
stand, they  declared,  how  the  prank  of  a  boy  of  sixteen,  who 
had  quarrelled  with  his  elder  brother  and  left  his  father's 
house,  could  be  taken  seriously. 

"  My  business  is  to  take  everything  seriously,"  gently 
replied  the  baron,  a  wise  and  melancholy  man.  He  was 
then  engaged  in  organizing  the  far-famed  Milan  police,  and 
had  undertaken  to  prevent  a  revolution  like  that  of  1746, 
which  drove  the  Austrians  out  of  Genoa.  This  Milanese 
police,  which  afterward  became  celebrated  by  its  connection 
with  the  adventures  of  Pellico  and  Andryana,  was  not  ex- 
actly cruel,  but  it  carried  laws  of  great  severity  into  logical 
and  pitiless  execution.  The  Emperor  Francis  II  was  deter- 
mined to  strike  terror  into  these  bold  Italian  imaginations. 

"  Give  me,"  said  Baron  Binder  to  Fabrizio's  friends, 
"  the  proved  facts  as  to  what  the  young  Marchesino  del 
Dongo  has  been  doing  every  day,  from  the  moment  he  left 
Grianta,  on  the  8th  of  March,  until  his  arrival  last  night  in 
this  city,  where  he  is  hidden  in  a  room  in  his  mother's 
apartment,  and  I  am  ready  to  look  upon  him  as  the  most 
charming  and  frolicsome  young  fellow  in  the  town.  But  if 
you  can  not  give  me  information  as  to  the  young  man's 
goings  and  comings  for  every  day  since  his  departure  from 
Grianta,  is  it  not  my  duty  to  have  him  arrested,  however 
high  may  be  his  birth,  and  however  deep  my  respect  for  the 
friends  of  his  family?  And  am  I  not  bound  to  keep  him 
in  prison  until  he  has  proved  to  me  that  he  did  not  convey 
a  message  to  Napoleon  from  the  few  malcontents  who  may 
exist  among  his  Majesty,  the  Emperor-King's,  Lombard 
subjects?  And  further,  gentlemen,  note  well,  that  even  if 
young  Del  Dongo  contrives  to  justify  himself  on  this  point, 
he  will  still  remain  guilty  of  having  gone  abroad  Without 
a  regular  passport,  and  also  of  passing  under  a  false  name, 
and  knowingly  using  a  passport  issued  to  a  mere  artisan — 

87 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

that  is  to  say,  to  an  individual  of  a  class  infinitely  inferior 
to  his  own." 

This  declaration,  merciless  in  its  logic,  was  accompanied 
by  all  that  show  of  deference  and  respect  due  from  the  head 
of  the  police  to  the  exalted  position  of  the  Marchesa  del 
Dongo  and  of  the  important  personages  who  had  come 
forward  on  her  behalf. 

When  the  marchesa  heard  the  baron's  reply  she  was  in 
despair. 

"  Fabrizio  will  be  arrested !  "  she  exclaimed,  bursting 
into  tears ;  "  and  once  he  is  in  prison,  God  only  knows  when 
he  will  come  out !     His  father  will  cast  him  off ! " 

The  two  ladies  took  counsel  with  two  or  three  of  their 
closest  friends,  and  in  spite  of  everything  they  said,  the 
marchesa  wished  to  insist  on  sending  her  son  away  the  fol- 
lowing night. 

"  But,"  said  the  countess,  "  you  must  surely  see  that 
Baron  Binder  knows  quite  well  that  your  son  is  here.  He 
is  not  a  spiteful  man." 

"  No,  but  he  desires  to  please  the  Emperor  Francis." 

"  But  if  he  thought  he  could  serve  his  own  ends  by 
putting  Fabrizio  into  prison,  he  would  have  done  it  already, 
and  if  you  insist  on  the  boy's  taking  to  flight,  you  insult  him 
by  your  want  of  confidence." 

"  But  the  very  fact  that  he  admits  he  knows  Fabrizio's 
whereabouts  is  as  good  as  telling  us  to  send  him  away. 
No,  I  shall  never  breathe  freely  as  long  as  I  can  say  to 
myself,  *  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  my  boy  may  be  shut  up 
between  four  walls ! '  Whatever  Baron  Binder's  ambition 
may  be,"  added  the  marchesa,  "  he  thinks  his  personal  posi- 
tion in  this  country  will  be  strengthened  by  an  affected  con- 
sideration for  a  man  of  my  husband's  rank,  and  the  strange 
frankness  with  which  he  avows  that  he  knows  where  to  lay 
his  hand  on  my  son  proves  this  to  me.  And  besides,  the 
baron  calmly  sets  forth  the  two  offences  of  which  Fabrizio 
stands  accused  according  to  his  brother's  vile  denunciation, 
and  explains  that  either  of  these  entails  imprisonment.  Is 
not  that  as  good  as  telling  us  that  if  we  prefer  exile  to 
prison  we  have  only  to  choose  it  ?  " 

88 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  If  you  choose  exile,"  repeated  the  countess,  "  we  shall 
never  see  the  boy  again."  Fabrizio,  who  had  been  present 
at  the  whole  discussion  with  one  of  the  marchesa's  oldest 
friends,  now  one  of  the  councillors  of  the  Austrian  Tribunal, 
was  strongly  in  favour  of  making  himself  scarce,  and  that 
very  evening,  in  fact,  he  left  the  palace,  concealed  in  the 
carriage  which  was  to  convey  his  mother  and  aunt  to  the 
Scala. 

The  coachman,  whom  they  did  not  trust,  betook  himself, 
as  usual,  to  a  neighbouring  tavern,  and  while  the  footman, 
a  faithful  servant,  held  the  horses,  Fabrizio,  disguised  as  a 
peasant,  slipped  out  of  the  carriage  and  out  of  the  town. 
By  the  next  morning  he  had  crossed  the  frontier  with  equal 
success,  and  a  few  hours  later  he  was  safe  in  a  country  house 
belonging  to  his  mother  in  Piedmont,  near  Novara,  at  a 
place  called  Romagnano,  where  Bayard  met  his  death. 

The  amount  of  attention  bestowed  by  the  two  ladies  on 
the  theatrical  performance  after  they  reached  their  box  may 
be  easily  conceived.  They  had  only  gone  to  the  theatre  to 
secure  an  opportunity  of  consulting  several  of  their  friends 
of  the  Liberal  party,  whose  appearance  at  the  Palazzo  del 
Dongo  would  have  stirred  suspicion  on  the  part  of  the 
police.  The  council  in  the  box  decided  on  making  a  fresh 
appeal  to  Baron  Binder.  There  could  be  no  question  of 
oflfering  money  to  the  magistrate,  who  was  a  perfectly  up- 
right man.  And  besides,  the  ladies  were  very  poor;  they 
had  obliged  Fabrizio  to  take  all  the  money  remaining  over 
from  the  sale  of  the  diamond  with  him.  Nevertheless,  it 
was  very  important  to  know  the  baron's  final  word.  The 
countess's  friends  reminded  her  of  a  certain  Canon  Borda, 
a  very  agreeable  young  man,  who  had  formerly  tried  to 
pay  her  court,  and  had  behaved  in  a  somewhat  shabby 
fashion  to  her.  When  he  found  his  advances  were  rejected, 
he  had  gone  to  General  Pietranera,  had  told  him  of  his  wife's 
friendship  with  Limercati,  and  was  forthwith  turned  out  of 
the  house  for  his  pains.  Now,  the  canon  played  cards  every 
evening  with  Baroness  Binder,  and  was,  naturally,  her  hus- 
band's close  friend.  The  countess  made  up  her  mind  to  the 
horribly  disagreeable  step  of  paying  a  visit  to  the  canon, 

89 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  the  next  morning  early,  before  he  had  gone  out,  she 
appeared  in  his  rooms. 

When  the  canon's  only  servant  pronounced  the  name 
of  the  Countess  Pietranera,  his  master  was  so  agitated  that 
his  voice  almost  failed  him,  and  he  made  no  attempt  to 
rearrange  a  morning  costume  of  the  most  extreme  sim- 
plicity. 

"  Show  the  lady  in,  and  then  go,"  he  said  huskily.  The 
countess  entered  the  room,  and  Borda  cast  himself  on  his 
knees  before  her. 

"  It  is  in  this  position  only  that  an  unhappy  madman 
like  myself  can  dare  to  receive  your  orders,"  said  he  to 
the  countess,  who  looked  irresistibly  charming  in  her  morn- 
ing dress,  which  was  half  a  disguise. 

Her  deep  grief  at  the  idea  of  Fabrizio's  exile  and  the 
violence  she  did  her  own  feelings  in  appearing  under  the 
roof  of  a  man  who  had  once  behaved  like  a  traitor  to  her, 
combined  to  make  her  eyes  shine  with  an  extraordinary 
light. 

"  It  is  in  this  position,"  cried  the  canon  again,  "  that  I 
must  receive  your  orders — for  some  service  you  must  desire 
of  me,  otherwise  the  poor  dwelling  of  this  unhappy  madman 
would  never  have  been  honoured  by  your  presence.  Once 
upon  a  time,  wild  with  love  and  jealousy,  and  seeing  he  had 
no  chance  of  finding  favour  in  your  eyes,  he  played  a  cow- 
ard's part  toward  you." 

The  words  were  sincerely  spoken,  and  were  all  the 
nobler  because  at  that  moment  the  canon  was  in  a  position 
of  great  power.  The  countess  was  touched  to  tears;  her 
heart  had  been  frozen  with  humiliation  and  dread,  but  these 
feelings  were  replaced,  in  an  instant,  by  a  tender  emotion 
and  a  ray  of  hope.  From  a  condition  of  great  misery  she 
passed,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  to  one  that  was  almost 
happiness. 

"  Kiss  my  hand,"  she  said,  and  she  held  it  to  the  canon's 
lips,  "  and  stand  up.  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  obtain 
mercy  for  my  nephew  Fabrizio.  Here  is  the  truth,  without 
the  smallest  disguise,  just  as  it  should  be  told  to  an  old 
friend.    The  boy,  who  is  only  sixteen  years  and  a  half  old, 

90 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

has  committed  an  unspeakable  folly.  We  were  living  at  the 
Castle  of  Grianta,  on  the  Lake  of  Como.  One  night,  at 
seven  o'clock,  a  boat  from  Como  brought  us  the  news  that 
the  Emperor  had  landed  in  the  Gulf  of  Juan.  The  next 
morning  Fabrizio  started  for  France,  after  having  induced 
one  of  his  humble  friends,  a  dealer  in  barometers  of  the 
name  of  Vasi,  to  give  him  his  passport.  As  he  by  no 
means  looks  like  a  dealer  in  barometers,  he  had  hardly  trav- 
elled ten  leagues  through  France  when  he  was  arrested. 
His  outbursts  of  enthusiasm,  expressed  in  very  bad  French, 
were  thought  suspicious.  After  some  time  he  escaped,  and 
contrived  to  get  to  Geneva.  We  sent  to  meet  him  at  Lu- 
gano." 

"  At  Geneva,  you  mean,"  said  the  canon,  smiling. 

The  countess  finished  her  story. 

"  Everything  that  is  humanly  possible  I  will  do  for  you," 
replied  the  canon  earnestly.  "  I  place  myself  entirely  at 
your  orders.  I  will  even  risk  imprudences,"  he  added. 
"  Tell  me,  what  am  I  to  do  at  this  moment,  when  my  poor 
room  is  to  be  bereft  of  the  celestial  vision  which  marks  an 
epoch  in  the  history  of  my  life?" 

"  You  must  go  to  Baron  Binder ;  you  must  tell  him  you 
have  loved  Fabrizio  from  his  babyhood,  that  you  saw  the 
child  at  the  time  of  his  birth,  when  you  used  to  come  to  our 
house,  and  that  you  beseech  Binder,  in  the  name  of  his 
friendship  for  you,  to  set  all  his  spies  to  discover  whether 
before  Fabrizio  departed  into  Switzerland  he  ever  had  the 
shortest  interview  with  any  of  the  suspected  Liberals.  If  the 
baron  is  at  all  decently  served  he  will  be  convinced  that  this 
whole  business  has  been  nothing  but  a  childish  freak.  You 
know  that  when  I  lived  in  the  Palazzo  Dugnani  I  had 
quantities  of  engravings  of  Napoleon's  battles.  My  nephew 
learned  to  read  from  the  inscriptions  on  those  pictures. 
When  he  was  only  five  years  old  my  poor  husband  would  de- 
scribe the  battles  to  him  ;  we  used  to  put  the  general's  helmet 
on  the  child's  head,  and  he  would  drag  his  great  sword  about 
the  room.  Well,  one  fine  day  the  boy  hears  that  the  man 
my  husband  worshipped,  the  Emperor,  is  back  in  France. 
Like  the  young  madcap  he  is,  he  started  off  to  join  him,  but 

91 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

he  did  not  succeed.  Ask  your  baron  what  punishment  he 
can  possibly  inflict  for  that  one  moment  of  folly," 

"  I  was  forgetting  something,"  cried  the  canon.  "  You 
shall  see  that  I  am  not  quite  unworthy  of  your  gracious 
pardon.  Here,"  he  said,  hunting  about  among  the  papers 
on  his  table,  "  here  is  the  denunciation  of  that  vile  col-torto 
[hypocrite] — look!  It  is  signed  '  Ascanio  Valserra  del 
Dongo ' — which  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  business.  I 
got  it  yesterday  in  the  police  office,  and  I  went  to  the  Scala, 
hoping  to  meet  somebody  who  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to 
your  box,  by  whom  I  might  send  it  to  you.  The  copy  of 
this  paper  reached  Vienna  long  ago.  This  is  the  enemy  we 
have  to  fight !  "  The  canon  and  the  countess  read  the  docu- 
ment together,  and  agreed  that  in  the  course  of  the  day  he 
was  to  send  her  a  copy  by  a  safe  hand.  Then  the  countess 
went  back  rejoicing  to  the  Palazzo  del  Dongo. 

"  No  one  could  have  behaved  more  perfectly  than  this 
man,  who  once  behaved  so  ill,"  said  she  to  the  marchesa. 
"  To-night,  at  the  Scala,  when  the  theatre  clock  strikes  a 
quarter  to  eleven,  we  will  turn  everybody  out  of  our  box, 
we  will  shut  our  door,  and  at  eleven  o'clock  the  canon  will 
come  himself,  and  tell  us  what  he  has  been  able  to  do.  This 
plan  seemed  to  us  the  one  least  likely  to  compromise  him." 

The  canon  was  no  fool ;  he  took  good  care  not  to  break 
his  appointment,  and  having  kept  it,  he  gave  proofs  of  a 
thorough  kind-heartedness  and  absolute  straightforward- 
ness rarely  seen  save  in  countries  where  vanity  does  not 
override  every  other  feeling.  His  accusation  of  the  Countess 
Pietranera  to  her  own  husband  had  caused  him  constant  re- 
morse, and  he  hailed  the  opportunity  for  atonement. 

That  morning,  when  the  countess  left  him,  he  had  said 
to  himself  bitterly,  "  Now  there  she  is,  in  love  with  her 
nephew !  "  and  his  old  wound  was  not  healed.  "  Otherwise, 
proud  as  she  is,  she  would  have  never  come  to  me.  When 
poor  Pietranera  died  she  refused  all  my  offers  of  service 
with  horror,  though  they  were  couched  in  the  most  polite 
terms  and  transmitted  to  her  by  Colonel  Scotti,  who  had 
been  her  lover.  To  think  of  the  beautiful  Pietranera  living 
on  fifteen  hundred  francs !  "  he  added,  as  he  walked  rapidly 

92 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

up  and  down  his  room,  "  and  then  settling  herself  at  Gri- 
anta  with  an  odious  secatore  like  the  Marchese  del  Dongo ! 
But  that  is  all  explained  now.  That  young  Fabrizio  is  cer- 
tainly very  attractive — tall,  well-built,  with  a  face  that  is 
always  gay,  and,  what's  better,  with  a  sort  of  tender  voluptu- 
ous look  about  him — a  Correggio  face !  "  added  the  canon 
bitterly. 

"  The  difference  of  age — not  too  great,  after  all ! 
Fabrizio  was  born  after  the  French  came  here — about 
'98,  I  think.  The  countess  may  be  seven  or  eight  and 
twenty.  No  woman  could  be  prettier,  more  delightful. 
Even  in  this  country,  where  there  are  so  many  lovely 
women,  she  beats  them  all — the  Marini,  the  Gherardi,  the 
Ruga,  the  Aresi,  the  Pietragrua — she  is  better-looking  than 
any  of  them !  They  were  living  happily  together  on  the 
banks  of  that  lovely  Lake  of  Como  when  the  young  man 
insisted  on  following  Napoleon.  Ah,  there  are  hearts  in 
Italy  still,  in  spite  of  what  every  one  may  do!  Beloved 
country !  No,"  he  mused,  and  his  breast  swelled  with  jeal- 
ousy, "  there  is  no  other  possible  means  of  explaining  her 
willingness  to  vegetate  in  the  country  and  endure  the  dis- 
gusting sight,  every  day  and  at  every  meal,  of  the  Marchese 
del  Dongo's  hideous  countenance,  and  the  vile  sallow  face 
of  the  Marchesino  Ascanio,  who  will  be  much  worse  than 
his  father,  on  the  top  of  it!  Ah,  well!  I  will  serve  her 
faithfully.  At  all  events,  I  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  her  nearer  than  through  my  opera-glasses." 

Canon  Borda  explained  the  matter  very  clearly  to  the 
ladies.  In  his  heart  Binder  was  disposed  to  do  all  he  could 
for  them.  He  was  heartily  glad  that  Fabrizio  had  taken 
himself  off  before  definite  orders  had  arrived  from  Vienna, 
for  Baron  Binder  could  decide  nothing  himself;  on  this 
matter,  as  on  every  other,  he  was  obliged  to  wait  for  orders. 
Every  day  he  sent  an  exact  copy  of  all  his  information  to 
Vienna,  and  awaited  the  imperial  reply. 

During  his  exile  at  Romagnano,  Fabrizio  was  to  be 
sure,  in  the  first  place,  to  go  to  mass  every  day,  to  choose 
some  intelligent  man,  devoted  to  the  cause  of  the  monarchy, 
as  his  confessor,  and  in  confession  to  be  careful  to  confide 

93 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

none  but  the  most  irreproachable  sentiments  to  his  ear; 
secondly,  he  was  not  to  consort  with  any  man  who  had  the 
reputation  of  being  clever,  and,  when  occasion  offered,  he 
was  to  speak  of  rebellion  with  horror,  as  a  thing  that  should 
never  be  permitted;  thirdly,  he  was  never  to  be  seen  in  a 
cafe,  he  was  never  to  read  any  newspaper  except  the  Turin 
and  Milan  Official  Gazettes,  he  was  to  express  dislike  of 
reading  in  general,  and  he  was  never  to  peruse  any  work 
printed  later  that  1720,  the  only  possible  exception  being 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels ;  "  and  lastly,"  said  the  canon,  with 
just  a  touch  of  spite,  "  he  must  not  fail  to  pay  open  court 
to  some  pretty  woman  in  the  district — one  of  noble  birth,  of 
course.  That  will  prove  he  has  none  of  the  gloomy  and 
discontented  spirit  of  the  juvenile  conspirator." 

Before  going  to  bed  that  night,  the  countess  and  the 
marchesa  wrote  Fabrizio  two  voluminous  letters,  which 
explained,  with  an  anxiety  that  was  most  endearing,  all  the 
advice  imparted  by  the  canon. 

Fabrizio  had  not  the  slightest  wish  to  conspire.  He 
loved  Napoleon,  believed  himself  destined,  as  a  nobleman, 
to  be  more  fortunate  than  most  men,  and  despised  the  whole 
middle  class. 

Since  he  had  left  college  he  had  never  opened  a  book, 
and  while  there,  had  only  read  books  arranged  by  the  Jesuits. 
He  took  up  his  residence  at  some  distance  from  Romagnano, 
in  a  magnificent  palace  which  had  been  one  of  the  master- 
pieces of  the  famous  architect  San  Michele.  But  it  had 
been  left  untenanted  for  thirty  years,  so  that  the  rain  came 
through  all  the  ceilings,  and  there  was  not  a  window  that 
would  shut.  He  took  possession  of  the  agent's  horses,  and 
rode  them  all  day  long,  just  as  it  suited  him.  He  never 
opened  his  lips,  and  thought  a  great  deal.  The  suggestion 
that  he  should  take  a  mistress  in  some  ultra  family  tickled 
his  fancy,  and  he  obeyed  it  to  fhe  letter.  He  chose  for  his 
confessor  a  young  and  intriguing  priest,  who  aimed  at  be- 
coming a  bishop  (like  the  confessor  of  the  Spielberg).* 

♦  In  Andryana's   curious  memoirs    which   are  as  amusing  as  a 
fairy-tale  and  should  be  as  immortal  as  the  works  ot  Tacitus. 

94 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

But  he  travelled  three  leagues  on  foot,  and  wrapped  himself 
in  what  he  believed  to  be  impenetrable  mystery,  so  as  to 
read  the  Constitutionnel,  which  he  thought  sublime — "as  fine 
as  Alfieri  and  Dante,"  he  would  often  exclaim.  Fabrizio 
resembled  young  Frenchmen  in  this  particular,  that  he 
thought  much  more  about  his  horse  and  his  newspaper  than 
about  his  high-born  mistress.  But  there  was  no  room,  as 
yet,  for  any  imitation  of  others  in  that  simple  and  steadfast 
soul,  and  he  made  no  friends  in  the  society  to  be  found  in  the 
town  of  Romagnano.  His  simplicity  was  taken  for  pride; 
nobody  could  understand  his  nature ;  "  a  younger  son,  who 
is  discontented  because  he  is  not  the  eldest,"  said  the  parish 
priest. 


CHAPTER  VI 

We  will  honestly  admit  that  the  canon's  jealousy  was  not 
utterly  unfounded.  When  Fabrizio  returned  from  France 
he  appeared  in  Countess  Pietranera's  eyes  as  a  handsome 
stranger  with  whom  she  had  once  been  intimately  ac- 
quainted. If  he  had  made  love  to  her  she  would  have  fallen 
in  love  with  him,  and  the  admiration  she  already  nursed  for 
both  his  person  and  his  acts  was  passionate,  and  I  might 
almost  say  unbounded.  But  Fabrizio  kissed  her  with  so 
much  innocent  gratitude  and  simple  aflfection  that  she  her- 
self would  have  been  horrified  at  the  idea  of  seeking  any 
other  feeling  in  a  regard  that  was  almost  filial.  "  After  all," 
said  the  countess  to  herself,  "  some  few  old  friends  who 
knew  me  six  years  ago  at  the  viceroy's  court  may  still  con- 
sider me  pretty,  and  even  young;  but  to  this  boy  I  am  a 
respectable  woman,  and  frankly,  without  any  regard  for  my 
vanity,  a  middle-aged  woman,  too ! "  The  countess  la- 
boured under  a  certain  illusion  with  regard  to  her  time  of 
life,  but  it  was  not  the  illusion  of  the  ordinary  woman. 
"  Besides,"  she  added,  "  at  Fabrizio's  age  a  man  is  inclined 
to  exaggerate  the  effect  produced  by  the  ravages  of  time. 
Now,  an  older  man  than  he " 

The  countess,  who  had  been  walking  up  and  down  her 
drawing-room,  paused  before  a  mirror,  and  smiled.  My 
readers  must  be  informed  that  for  several  months  past  seri- 
ous siege  had  been  laid  to  Gina  Pietranera's  heart,  and  that 
by  a  man  quite  out  of  the  ordinary  category.  A  short  time 
after  Fabrizio's  departure  for  France  the  countess,  who, 
though  she  did  not  quite  acknowledge  it  to  herself,  was 
already  very  much  interested  in  him,  had  fallen  into  a  con- 
dition of  the  deepest  melancholy.  All  her  former  occupa- 
tions seemed  to  have  lost  their  attraction,  and  if  I  may  so 

96 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

describe  it,  their  flavour.  She  told  herself  that  Napoleon,  in 
his  desire  to  win  the  affections  of  the  Italian  people,  would 
certainly  take  Fabrizio  for  his  aide-de-camp !  "  He's  lost 
to  me !  "  she  exclaimed,  weeping.  "  I  shall  never  see  him 
again !  He  will  write  to  me,  but  what  can  I  be  to  him  ten 
years  hence  ?  " 

While  she  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  she  made  a  trip 
to  Milan,  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  more  direct  news  of 
Napoleon,  and  possibly  further  news  of  Fabrizio.  Though 
she  did  not  admit  it,  her  eager  soul  was  growing  very  weary 
of  the  monotony  of  her  country  life.  "  I  do  not  live  there," 
said  she  to  herself.  "  I  only  keep  myself  from  dying." 
She  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  powdered  heads  she 
must  behold  every  day — her  brother,  her  nephew  Ascanio, 
and  their  serving-men ;  what  would  her  trips  on  the  lake  be 
without  Fabrizio  ?  The  affection  that  bound  her  to  the  mar- 
chesa  was  her  only  consolation.  But  for  some  time  past 
her  intimacy  with  Fabrizio's  mother,  who  was  older  than 
herself,  and  had  no  future  outlook,  had  brought  her  less 
satisfaction. 

Such  was  the  Countess  Pietranera's  peculiar  position. 
Now  that  Fabrizio  was  gone,  she  expected  but  little  future 
happiness,  and  she  hungered  for  consolation  and  for  novelty. 
When  she  reached  Milan  she  developed  a  passionate  fondness 
for  the  opera  then  in  fashion.  She  shut  herself  up  alone  for 
long  hours  at  a  stretch  in  her  old  friend's,  General  Scotti's, 
box  at  the  Scala.  The  men  whose  acquaintance  she  sought, 
in  the  hope  of  obtaining  news  of  Napoleon  and  his  army, 
struck  her  as  coarse  and  vulgar.  When  she  came  home  at 
night  she  would  extemporize  on  her  piano  till  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  One  evening  she  went  to  the  Scala,  and 
was  sitting  in  a  box  belonging  to  one  of  her  lady  friends, 
whither  she  had  gone  to  try  and  gather  news  from  France. 
The  Minister  of  Parma,  Count  Mosca,  was  presented  to  her. 
He  was  an  agreeable  man,  who  spoke  of  France  and  of 
Napoleon  in  a  manner  which  made  her  heart  thrill  afresh 
with  hope  and  fear.  The  following  day  she  returned  to  the 
same  box.  The  clever  statesman  returned  also,  and  during 
the  whole  of  the  performance  she  talked  to  him,  and  found 

97 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

pleasure  in  the  conversation.  Never,  since  Fabrizio's  de- 
parture, had  she  thought  an  evening  so  enjoyable.  The  man 
who  thus  diverted  her  thoughts,  Count  Mosca  della  Rovere 
Sorezana,  was  then  Minister  of  War,  of  Police,  and  of  Fi- 
nance to  Ernest  IV,  that  famous  Prince  of  Parma,  so  cele- 
brated for  his  severity,  which  Milanese  Liberals  termed  cruel- 
ty. Mosca  might  have  been  forty  or  forty-five  years  of  age. 
He  was  a  large-featured  man,  without  a  vestige  of  self-impor- 
tance and  a  simple  cheery  manner,  which  prepossessed  peo- 
ple in  his  favour.  He  would  have  been  very  good-looking, 
if  his  master's  whim  had  not  obliged  him  to  powder  his 
hair,  as  an  earnest  of  the  propriety  of  his  political  views.  In 
Italy,  where  the  fear  of  wounding  the  vanity  of  others  is 
little  felt,  people  soon  fall  into  intimacy,  and  proceed  to  make 
personal  remarks.  The  corrective  for  this  habit  consists  in 
not  meeting  again,  if  feelings  happen  to  be  hurt. 

"  Tell  me,  count,"  said  Countess  Pietranera  on  the  third 
occasion  of  their  meeting,  "  why  you  wear  powder  ?  Pow- 
der on  a  man  like  you — delightful,  still  young,  and  who 
fought  with  us  in  Spain ! " 

"  Because  I  brought  no  booty  away  with  me  from  Spain. 
After  all,  a  man  must  live.  I  was  mad  for  glory ;  one  word 
of  praise  from  Gouvion-St.  Cyr,  the  French  general  who 
commanded  us,  was  all  I  cared  for  in  those  days.  When 
Napoleon  fell,  I  discovered  that  while  I  had  been  spending 
all  my  fortune  in  his  service,  my  father,  who  had  a  lively 
imagination,  and  dreamed  of  seeing  me  a  general,  had  been 
building  me  a  palace  at  Parma;  and  in  1813  I  discovered 
that  the  whole  of  my  worldly  wealth  consisted  of  a  big  un- 
finished palace  and  a  pension." 

"  A  pension !  Three  thousand  five  hundred  francs,  I 
suppose,  like  my  poor  husband's." 

"  Count  Pietranera  was  a  full  general.  My  poor  major's 
pension  was  never  more  than  eight  hundred  francs,  and  until 
I  became  Minister  of  Finance  I  was  never  paid  even  that !  " 

As  the  only  other  occupant  of  the  box  was  its  owner,  a 
lady  of  exceedingly  liberal  opinions,  the  conversation  was 
continued  in  the  same  strain  of  intimacy.  In  answer  to  the 
countess's  questions,   Count  Mosca  spoke  of  his  life  at 

98 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Parma :  "  In  Spain,  under  General  St.  Cyr,  I  braved  volleys 
of  musketry  fire  for  the  sake  of  the  Cross  of  Honour,  and 
afterward  to  win  a  little  glory.  Now  I  dress  myself  up  like 
a  character  in  a  comedy  to  secure  a  great  establishment  and 
a  certain  number  of  thousand  francs.  When  I  played  my 
first  moves  in  this  game  of  chess  the  insolence  of  my  su- 
periors nettled  me,  and  I  resolved  to  reach  one  of  the  high- 
est places.  I  have  gained  my  object,  but  my  happiest  days 
are  always  those  I  am  able  to  spend,  now  and  then,  at 
Milan.  Here,  as  it  seems  to  me,  the  heart  of  the  old  army  of 
Italy  still  throbs." 

The  frankness  and  disinvoltura  with  which  the  minister 
referred  to  so  greatly-dreaded  a  prince  piqued  the  countess's 
curiosity.  She  had  expected  to  meet  a  self-important 
pedant ;  instead  of  that  she  found  a  man  who  seemed  rather 
ashamed  of  his  solemn  position.  Mosca  had  promised  to 
keep  her  informed  of  all  the  news  from  France  he  could 
collect.  This  was  a  great  indiscretion  for  any  one  living  at 
Milan  the  month  before  Waterloo.  At  that  moment  the 
fate  of  Italy  hung  in  the  balance,  and  every  one  in  Milan 
was  in  a  fever  of  hope  or  fear.  In  the  midst  of  the  universal 
agitation,  the  countess  made  inquiries  concerning  the  man 
who  spoke  thus  lightly  of  a  position  so  universally  envied, 
and  one  which  was  his  own  sole  subsistence.  She  learned 
things  that  were  curious,  whimsical,  and  interesting.  Count 
Mosca  della  Rovere  Sorezana,  she  was  told,  is  on  the  point 
of  becoming  the  Prime  Minister  and  acknowledged  favour- 
ite of  Ernest  IV,  absolute  ruler  of  the  state  of  Parma,  and 
one  of  the  richest  princes  in  Europe  into  the  bargain.  The 
count  could  already  have  attained  this  supreme  position 
if  he  would  only  have  assumed  a  more  serious  demeanour. 
The  prince,  it  is  said,  has  frequently  remonstrated  with  him 
on  this  point.  "  How  can  my  ways  matter  to  your  High- 
ness," he  answers  boldly,  "  so  long  as  I  transact  your 
business  ?  " 

"  The  favourite's  good  fortune,"  continued  her  infor- 
mant, "  is  not  without  its  thorns.  He  has  to  please  a  sover- 
eign who,  though  certainly  a  man  of  sense  and  cleverness, 
appears  to  have  lost  his  head  since  the  day  he  ascended  an 

99 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

absolute  throne,  and  who,  for  instance,  nurses  suspicions 
really  unworthy  even  of  a  woman," 

"Ernest  IV's  bravery  is  limited  to  that  he  has  displayed 
in  war.  Twenty  times  over,  and  in  the  most  gallant  fashion, 
he  has  led  a  column  to  the  attack.  But  since  his  father, 
Ernest  III,  has  died,  and  he  himself  has  taken  up  his  resi- 
dence within  his  dominions — where,  unluckily  for  himself, 
he  enjoys  unlimited  power — he  has  begun  to  hold  forth  in 
the  wildest  way  against  Liberals  and  liberty.  He  soon  took 
it  into  his  head  that  his  subjects  hated  him,  and  at  last,  in 
a  fit  of  temper,  and  egged  on  by  a  wretch  by  the  name  of 
Rassi,  a  sort  of  Minister  of  Justice,  he  caused  two  Liberals, 
whose  guilt  was  probably  of  the  slightest,  to  be  hanged. 

"  Since  that  fatal  moment,  the  sovereign's  whole  life 
seems  changed,  and  he  is  harried  by  the  most  extraordinary 
suspicions.  He  is  not  yet  fifty,  but  terror  has  so  degraded 
him,  if  one  may  so  describe  it,  that  when  he  begins  to  talk 
about  the  Jacobins  and  the  plans  of  their  Central  Committee 
in  Paris  his  face  grows  like  that  of  a  man  of  ninety,  and  he 
falls  back  into  all  the  fanciful  terrors  of  babyhood.  His 
favourite,  Rassi,  the  head  of  his  judicial  department  (or 
chief  justice)  has  no  influence  except  through  his  master's 
terrors.  As  soon  as  he  begins  to  tremble  for  his  own  credit, 
he  instantly  discovers  some  fresh  conspiracy  of  the  blackest 
and  most  fanciful  description.  If  thirty  imprudent  souls 
meet  to  read  a  number  of  the  Constitutionnel,  Rassi  declares 
they  are  conspiring,  and  sends  them  as  prisoners  to  that 
famous  Citadel  of  Parma,  which  is  the  terror  of  the  whole 
of  Lombardy.  As  this  citadel  is  very  high — one  hundred 
and  eighty  feet,  they  say — it  is  seen  from  an  immense  dis- 
tance all  over  the  huge  plain,  and  the  outline  of  the  prison, 
about  which  horrible  stories  are  told,  frowns  like  a  merciless 
sovereign  over  the  whole  tract  of  country  from  Milan  to 
Bologna." 

"  Would  you  believe  it,"  said  another  traveller  to  the 
countess,  "  at  night  Ernest  IV  sits  shivering  with  terror 
in  his  room  on  the  third  story  of  his  palace,  where  he  is 
guarded  by  eighty  sentries,  who  shout  a  whole  sentence 
instead  of  a  password  every  quarter  of  an  hour.    With  ten 

ICX) 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

bolts  shot  on  each  of  his  doors,  and  the  rooms  above  and 
below  his  apartments  filled  with  soldiers,  he  is  still  terrified 
of  the  Jacobins !  If  a  board  in  the  floor  creaks  he  snatches 
at  his  pistols  and  is  convinced  a  Liberal  must  be  hidden  un- 
derneath his  bed.  Instantly  every  bell  in  the  castle  begins 
to  ring,  and  an  aide-de-camp  hurries  off  to  wake  Count 
Mosca.  When  the  Minister  of  Police  reaches  the  castle 
he  knows  better  than  to  deny  the  existence  of  the  con- 
spiracy. Armed  to  the  teeth,  he  and  the  prince  go  alone 
round  every  comer  of  the  apartments,  look  under  all  the 
beds,  and,  in  a  word,  perform  a  number  of  ridiculous  antics 
worthy  of  an  old  woman.  In  those  happy  days  when  the 
prince  was  a  soldier,  and  had  never  killed  a  man  except  in 
war,  all  these  precautions  would  have  struck  him  as  exceed- 
ingly degrading.  Being  an  exceedingly  intelligent  and 
clever  man,  he  really  is  ashamed  of  them.  Even  at  the  mo- 
ment of  taking  them  they  appear  ridiculous  to  him.  And 
the  secret  of  Count  Mosca's  immense  credit  is  that  he  ap- 
plies all  his  skill  to  prevent  the  prince  from  ever  feeling 
ashamed  in  his  presence.  It  is  he,  Mosca,  who,  as  Minister 
of  Police,  insists  on  search  being  made  under  every  bit  of 
furniture,  and,  as  people  at  Parma  declare,  even  in  musical 
instrument  cases.  It  is  the  prince  who  objects,  and  jokes 
his  minister  on  his  extreme  punctiliousness.  '  This  is  a 
matter  of  honour  to  me,'  Mosca  replies.  *  Think  of  the 
satirical  sonnets  the  Jacobins  would  rain  down  upon  us  if 
we  let  them  kill  you !  We  have  to  defend  not  only  your  life, 
but  our  own  reputation.'  Still  the  prince  appears  to  be 
only  half  taken  in  by  it  all,  for  if  any  one  in  the  town  vent- 
ures to  say  there  has  been  a  sleepless  night  in  the  castle, 
Rassi  forthwith  sends  the  unseasonable  joker  to  the  citadel, 
and  once  the  prisoner  is  shut  up  in  that  high  and  airy  dwell- 
ing, it  is  only  by  a  miracle  that  any  one  recollects  his  exis- 
tence. It  is  because  Mosca  is  a  soldier,  who,  during  the 
Spanish  campaigns,  saved  his  own  life  twenty  times  over, 
pistol  in  hand,  and  surrounded  by  pitfalls,  that  the  prince 
prefers  him  to  Rassi,  who  is  far  more  pliable  and  cringing. 
The  unhappy  prisoners  in  the  citadel  are  kept  in  the  most 
strict  and  solitary  confinement.    All  sorts  of  stories  are  cur- 

lOI 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

rent  about  them.  The  Liberals  declare  that  Rassi  has  in- 
vented a  plan  whereby  the  jailers  and  confessors  are  ordered 
to  convince  them  that  almost  every  month  one  of  them  is 
led  out  to  execution.  On  that  day  they  are  allowed  to 
mount  on  to  the  terrace  of  the  huge  tower,  one  hundred 
and  eighty  feet  high,  and  thence  they  see  a  departing  pro- 
cession, in  which  a  spy  represents  the  poor  wretch  supposed 
to  be  going  out  to  meet  his  fate." 

These  tales  and  a  score  more  of  the  same  nature,  and 
not  less  authentic,  interested  the  countess  deeply.  The  day 
after  hearing  them  she  questioned  the  count,  and  jested  at 
his  answers.  She  thought  him  most  entertaining,  and  kept 
assuring  him  that  he  certainly  was  a  monster,  though  he 
might  be  unconscious  of  the  fact.  One  day,  as  the  count 
was  going  home  to  his  inn,  he  said  to  himself :  "  Not  only 
is  the  Countess  Pietranera  a  charming  woman,  but  when  I 
spend  the  evening  in  her  box  I  contrive  to  forget  certain 
things  at  Parma,  the  memory  of  which  stabs  me  to  the 
heart !  "  This  minister,  in  spite  of  his  lively  air  and  brilliant 
manners,  had  not  the  soul  of  a  Frenchman.  He  did  not 
know  how  to  forget  his  sorrows.  '*  When  there  was  a  thorn 
in  his  pillow  he  was  forced  to  break  it  and  wear  it  down  by 
thrusting  it  into  his  own  throbbing  limbs."  I  must  apologize 
for  introducing  this  sentence,  translated  from  the  Italian. 
The  morning  following  on  his  discovery,  the  count  became 
aware  that  in  spite  of  the  business  which  had  called  him 
to  Milan,  the  day  was  extraordinarily  long;  he  could  not 
stay  quiet  anywhere,  and  tired  his  carriage  horses  out.  To- 
ward six  o'clock  he  rode  out  to  the  Corso.  He  had  hoped 
he  might  have  met  the  Countess  Pietranera  there.  He 
could  not  see  her,  and  recollected  that  the  Scala  opened  at 
eight  o'clock.  Thither  he  betook  himself,  and  did  not  find 
more  than  ten  persons  in  the  whole  of  the  great  building. 
He  felt  quite  shy  at  being  there.  "  Can  it  be  ?  "  he  mused, 
"  that  at  five-and-forty  I  am  committing  follies  for  which 
a  subaltern  officer  would  blush?  Luckily  nobody  suspects 
it."  He  fled,  and  tried  to  pass  away  the  time  by  walking 
about  the  pretty  streets  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Scala 
Theatre.     They  are  full  of  cafes,  which  at  that  hour  are 

102 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

teeming  with  customers.  In  front  of  each,  a  crowd  of  idlers 
sits  on  chairs,  spreading  right  out  into  the  street,  eating 
ices  and  criticising  the  passers-by.  The  count  was  a  passer- 
by of  considerable  notoriety,  and  he  had  the  pleasure  of 
being  recognised  and  accosted.  Three  or  four  importunate 
individuals,  of  that  class  which  it  is  not  easy  to  shake  off, 
seized  this  opportunity  of  obtaining  an  audience  from  the 
powerful  minister.  Two  of  them  thrust  petitions  into  his 
hands,  a  third  contented  himself  with  giving  him  long- 
winded  advice  as  to  his  political  conduct. 

"  So  clever  a  man  as  I  am  must  not  go  to  sleep,  and 
a  person  so  powerful  as  I  should  not  walk  in  the  streets,"  he 
reflected.  He  went  back  to  the  theatre,  and  it  occurred  to 
him  to  take  a  box  on  the  third  tier.  Thence  he  could  gaze 
unnoticed  right  into  the  box  on  the  second  tier,  in  which 
he  hoped  to  see  the  countess  appear.  Two  full  hours  of  wait- 
ing did  not  seem  too  long  to  this  man  who  was  in  love. 
Safely  screened  from  observation,  he  gave  himself  up  to 
the  enjoyment  of  his  passionate  dream.  "  What  is  old 
age !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  Surely,  above  all  other  things, 
it  means  that  the  capacity  for  this  exquisite  foolery  is  lost !  " 

At  last  the  countess  made  her  appearance.  Through  his 
opera-glasses  he  watched  her  adoringly.  "  Young,  brilliant, 
blithe  as  a  bird,"  he  said,  "  she  does  not  look  five-and- 
twenty.  Her  beauty  is  the  least  of  her  charms.  Where  else 
could  I  discover  a  creature  of  such  perfect  sincerity,  one 
whose  actions  are  never  governed  by  prudence,  who  gives 
herself  up  bodily  to  the  feelings  of  the  moment,  and  asks 
nothing  better  than  to  be  whirled  oflf  by  some  fresh  object? 
I  can  understand  all  Count  Nani's  wild  behaviour ! " 

The  count  gave  himself  excellent  reasons  for  his  extrava- 
gant feelings  so  long  as  he  only  thought  of  attaining  the 
happiness  he  saw  before  his  eyes.  But  his  arguments  were 
not  so  cogent  when  he  began  to  consider  his  own  age,  and 
the  anxieties,  some  of  them  gloomy  enough,  which  clouded 
his  existence.  "  A  clever  man,  whose  terrors  override  his 
intelligence,  gives  me  a  great  position  and  large  sums  of 
money  for  acting  as  his  minister.  But  supposing  he  were 
to  dismiss  me  to-morrow?     I  should  be  nothing  but  an 

103 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

elderly  and  needy  man;  in  other  words,  just  the  sort  of 
man  that  every  one  is  inclined  to  despise,  A  nice  sort  of 
individual  to  oflfer  to  the  countess !  "  These  thoughts  were 
too  dreary,  and  he  turned  his  eyes  once  more  upon  the 
object  of  his  affections.  He  was  never  tired  of  gazing  at 
her,  and  he  refrained  from  going  to  her  box  so  that  he 
might  contemplate  her  more  undisturbedly.  "  I  have  just 
been  told,"  he  mused,  "  that  she  only  encouraged  Nani  to 
play  a  trick  on  Limercati,  who  would  not  take  the  trouble 
to  run  her  husband's  murderer  through,  or  have  him 
stabbed  by  somebody  else.  I  would  fight  twenty  duels  for 
her !  "  he  murmured  in  a  passion  of  adoration.  He  kept  con- 
tinually glancing  at  the  Scala  clock,  with  its  luminous  figures 
standing  out  on  a  black  ground,  which,  as  each  five  minutes 
passed,  warned  the  spectators  that  the  hour  of  their  admis- 
sion into  some  fair  friend's  box  had  duly  arrived. 

The  count  ruminated  again :  "  I  have  only  known  her 
such  a  short  time  that  I  dare  not  spend  more  than  half  an 
hour  in  her  box.  If  I  stay  longer  than  that  I  shall  attract  at- 
tention, and  then,  thanks  to  my  age,  and  still  more  to  the 
cursed  powder  in  my  hair,  I  shall  look  as  foolish  as  a  panta- 
loon ! "  But  a  sudden  thought  forced  him  to  a  decision, 
"  Supposing  she  were  to  leave  her  box  to  pay  a  visit  to  an- 
other ;  I  should  be  well  punished  for  the  stinginess  with 
which  I  had  meted  out  my  pleasure  to  myself !  "  He  rose  to 
his  feet,  meaning  to  go  down  to  the  box  in  which  the 
countess  was  sitting.  Suddenly  he  felt  that  his  desire  to  enter 
it  had  almost  entirely  disappeared.  "  Now  this  really  is  de- 
lightful," he  exclaimed,  and  he  stopped  on  the  staircase  to 
laugh  at  himself.  "  I  am  positively  frightened !  Such  a  thing 
hasn't  happened  to  me  for  five-and-twenty  years !  "  He  had 
almost  to  make  a  conscious  effort  to  go  into  the  box,  and 
like  a  clever  man  he  took  advantage  of  the  circumstance. 

He  made  no  attempt  whatever  to  appear  at  his  ease,  or  to 
show  ofT  his  wit  by  plunging  headlong  into  some  joking 
conversation.  He  had  the  courage  to  be  shy,  and  applied 
his  mind  to  letting  his  agitation  betray  itself  without  ren- 
dering him  ridiculous.  "  If  she  takes  it  amiss,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "  I  am  done  for  forever !     What  1     Shyness  in  a 

104 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

man  with  powdered  hair — hair  which  would  be  gray  if  the 
powder  did  not  cover  it!  But  it  is  the  truth,  therefore  it 
can  not  be  ridiculous  unless  I  exaggerate  it,  or  wave  it  like 
a  trophy  before  her  eyes."  The  countess  had  so  often  been 
bored  at  the  Castle  of  Grianta,  among  the  powdered  heads 
of  her  brother,  her  nephew,  and  some  tiresome  neighbours 
of  the  right  way  of  thinking,  that  she  never  gave  a  thought 
to  the  fashion  in  which  her  new  adorer  dressed  his  hair. 

Her  good  sense,  then,  saved  her  from  bursting  out 
laughing  when  he  entered,  and  her  whole  attention  was  ab- 
sorbed by  the  French  news  which  Mosca  always  confided 
to  her  particular  ear  when  he  entered  her  box.  Some  of  this 
news,  no  doubt,  he  invented.  As  she  talked  it  over  with 
him  that  evening  she  noticed  his  glance,  which  was  open 
and  kindly. 

"  I  fancy,"  she  said,  "  that  when  you  are  at  Parma,  sur- 
rounded by  your  slaves,  you  do  not  look  at  them  in  so 
kindly  a  manner.  That  would  spoil  everything,  and  give 
them  some  hope  of  not  being  hanged." 

The  total  absence  of  pretension  on  the  part  of  a  man 
who  bore  the  reputation  of  being  the  foremost  diplomatist 
in  Italy  struck  the  countess  as  peculiar,  and  even  endowed 
him  with  a  certain  charm  in  her  eyes.  On  the  whole,  and 
considering  how  well  and  brilliantly  he  talked,  she  was  not 
at  all  displeased  that  he  should  have  taken  it  into  his  head 
to  play  the  part  of  her  attentive  swain  for  this  one  evening, 
and  with  no  serious  ulterior  intentions. 

A  great  point  had  been  gained,  and  a  very  risky  one. 
Fortunately  for  the  minister,  who  at  Parma  never  saw  his 
advances  rejected,  the  countess  had  only  just  returned  from 
Grianta,  and  her  mind  was  still  numb  with  the  dulness  of 
her  rural  life.  She  had  forgotten,  so  to  speak,  how  to  be 
merry,  and  everything  connected  with  the  elegancies  and 
frivolities  of  life  wore  an  appearance  of  novelty  which  almost 
made  them  sacred  in  her  eyes.  She  had  no  inclination  to 
laugh  at  anything,  not  even  at  a  shy  man  of  five-and-forty 
who  had  fallen  in  love  with  her.  A  week  later  the  count's 
boldness  might  have  met  with  quite  a  different  reception. 

As  a  rule  no  visit  paid  to  a  box  in  the  Scala  lasts  more 

105 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

than  twenty  minutes.  The  count  spent  the  whole  evening 
in  that  in  which  he  had  been  so  happy  as  to  find  the 
Countess  Pietranera.  "  This  woman,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"  brings  me  back  to  all  the  follies  of  my  youth,"  yet  he  felt 
the  danger  of  his  position.  "  Will  she  forgive  my  folly  for 
the  sake  of  my  reputation  as  an  all-powerful  pasha  at  a  place 
forty  leagues  off  ?  How  tiresome  that  life  of  mine  at  Parma 
is ! "  Nevertheless,  as  each  quarter  struck,  he  vowed  to 
himself  he  would  depart. 

"  You  must  consider,  signora,"  he  said  laughingly  to  the 
countess,  "  that  I  am  bored  to  death  at  Parma,  and  that 
therefore  I  must  be  allowed  to  drink  deep  draughts  of 
pleasure  whenever  pleasure  lies  in  my  path.  Thus,  for  this 
one  evening,  and  without  making  any  ulterior  claim  on  your 
kindness,  give  me  leave  to  pay  my  court  to  you.  In  a  few 
days,  alas!  I  shall  be  far  from  this  box,  where  I  forget  all 
my  sorrows,  and  you  will  say,  perhaps,  all  the  proprieties." 

A  week  after  that  lengthy  visit  to  the  box  at  the  Scala, 
which  had  been  followed  by  various  little  incidents  too  nu- 
merous to  relate  here.  Count  Mosca  was  madly  in  love,  and 
the  countess  was  beginning  to  think  that  his  age  need  be  no 
objection  if  he  pleased  her  in  other  respects.  Matters  had 
reached  this  point,  when  Mosca  was  recalled  by  a  courier 
from  Parma.  It  was  as  though  his  prince  had  grown  fright- 
ened at  being  left  alone.  The  countess  went  back  to  Gri- 
anta.  That  beautiful  spot,  no  longer  idealized,  now,  by  her 
imagination,  seemed  to  her  a  desert.  "  Have  I  really  grown 
fond  of  this  man  ?  "  said  she  to  herself.  Mosca  wrote,  and 
found  himself  at  a  loss ;  separation  had  dried  up  the  springs 
of  his  ideas.  His  letters  were  amusing,  and  there  was  a 
quaintness  connected  with  them  which  did  not  fail  to  please. 
So  as  to  avoid  the  remarks  of  the  Marchese  del  Dongo, 
who  was  not  fond  of  paying  for  the  delivery  of  letters, 
these  were  sent  by  messengers,  who  posted  them  at  Como, 
Lecco,  Varese,  and  the  other  pretty  little  towns  in  the  near 
neighbourhood  of  the  lake.  One  object  of  this  mancEuvre 
was  that  the  couriers  might  bring  back  answers.  It  was 
successfully  attained. 

Before  long  the  countess  began  to  watch  for  the  days 

1 06 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

when  the  post  arrived.  The  couriers  brought  her  flowers, 
fruit,  Httle  presents  of  no  value,  but  which  entertained  her 
and  her  sister-in-law  as  well.  Her  memory  of  the  count  be- 
gan to  be  mingled  with  thoughts  of  his  great  power,  and 
the  countess  grew  curious  about  everything  that  was  said 
concerning  him.  Even  the  Liberals  paid  homage  to  his 
talents. 

The  chief  ground  of  the  count's  evil  reputation  rested 
on  the  fact  that  he  was  considered  the  head  of  the  ultra 
party  at  the  court  of  Parma,  where  the  Liberal  party  was 
led  by  an  intriguing  woman,  capable  of  anything,  even  of 
success,  and  very  rich  into  the  bargain — the  Marchesa 
Raversi.  The  prince  was  very  careful  not  to  discourage 
whichever  of  the  two  parties  was  not  in  power.  He  knew 
well  enough  that  he  would  always  be  master,  even  with 
a  ministry  chosen  out  of  the  Marchesa  Raversi's  circle. 
Numerous  details  of  these  intrigues  were  related  at  Gri- 
anta.  Mosca,  whom  all  the  world  described  as  a  minister  of 
first-rate  talent  and  a  man  of  action,  was  not  present,  and 
therefore  the  countess  was  free  to  forget  the  hair  powder, 
which  in  her  eyes  symbolized  everything  that  is  most  slow 
and  dreary.  That,  after  all,  was  an  infinitesimal  detail,  one 
of  the  obligations  imposed  by  the  court  at  which  he  other- 
wise played  so  noble  a  part.  "  A  court  is  an  absurd  thing," 
said  the  countess  to  the  marchesa,  "  but  it's  amusing.  It's 
an  interesting  game,  but  it  must  be  played  according  to  the 
rules.  Did  anybody  ever  think  of  rebelling  against  the  rules 
of  piquet?  Yet  once  one  has  grown  accustomed  to  them, 
there  is  great  enjoyment  in  beating  one's  adversary." 

The  countess  gave  many  a  thought  to  the  writer  of  all 
those  pleasant  letters.  The  days  on  which  she  received 
them  were  bright  days  to  her.  She  would  call  for  her  boat, 
and  go  and  read  them  at  the  most  beautiful  spots  on  the 
lake — at  Pliniana,  at  Belano,  or  in  the  wood  of  the  Sfon- 
drata.  These  letters  seemed  to  bring  her  some  consolation 
for  Fabrizio's  absence.  At  any  rate,  she  could  not  deny  the 
count  the  right  to  be  desperately  in  love  with  her,  and  be- 
fore the  month  was  out  she  was  thinking  of  him  with  a  very 
tender  affection.    Count  Mosca,  on  his  part,  was  very  nearly 

107 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

in  earnest  when  he  offered  to  send  in  his  resignation,  leave 
the  ministry,  and  spend  his  Hfe  with  her  at  Milan  or  else- 
where. "  I  have  four  hundred  thousand  francs,"  he  said ; 
"  that  would  always  give  us  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"  An  opera-box  and  horses  again,"  reflected  the  countess. 
The  dream  was  a  tempting  one. 

The  charms  of  the  sublime  scenery  round  Como  ap- 
pealed to  her  afresh.  On  the  shores  of  the  lake  she  dreamed 
again  over  the  strange  and  brilliant  existence  which,  con- 
trary to  all  appearances,  was  opening  once  more  before  her. 
She  saw  herself  in  Milan,  on  the  Corso,  happy  and  gay  as 
she  had  been  in  the  days  of  the  viceroy.  "  My  youth  would 
come  back  to  me.    My  life  would  be  full,  at  all  events." 

Her  ardent  imagination  sometimes  deceived  her,  but  she 
had  never  laboured  under  those  voluntary  illusions  which 
are  the  result  of  cowardice.  Above  all  things,  she  was  per- 
fectly straightforward  with  herself.  "  If  I  am  a  little  beyond 
the  age  for  committing  follies,  envy — which  can  deceive 
as  well  as  love — may  poison  the  happiness  of  my  life  at 
Milan.  After  my  husband's  death,  my  proud  poverty  and 
my  refusal  of  two  great  fortunes  were  admired.  This  poor 
little  count  of  mine  has  not  a  twentieth  part  of  the  wealth 
those  two  simpletons,  Limercati  and  Nani,  laid  at  my  feet. 
The  tiny  widow's  pension,  obtained  with  so  much  difficulty, 
the  sending  away  of  my  servants,  the  little  room  on  the 
fifth  story,  which  brought  twenty  coaches  to  the  door  of 
the  house — all  that  was  curious  and  interesting  at  the  time. 
But  I  shall  have  some  disagreeable  moments,  however  clev- 
erly I  may  manage,  if  with  no  more  private  fortune  than  my 
widow's  pension,  I  go  back  to  Milan,  and  live  there  in  the 
modest  middle-class  comfort  which  the  fifteen  thousand 
francs  a  year  that  will  remain  to  Mosca  after  his  resignation 
will  insure  us.  One  curious  objection,  which  will  become 
a  terrible  weapon  in  the  hands  of  the  envious,  is,  that  though 
the  count  has  been  separated  from  his  wife  for  years,  he  is 
married.  At  Parma  everybody  is  aware  of  this,  but  at  Milan 
it  will  be  news,  and  it  will  be  ascribed  to  me.  Therefore, 
farewell,  my  beautiful  Scala!  my  heavenly  Lake  of  Como, 
fare  thee  well  I  " 

io8 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

In  spite  of  all  her  forebodings,  if  the  countess  had  had 
the  smallest  fortune  of  her  own,  she  would  have  accepted 
Mosca's  offer  to  resign.  She  believed  herself  to  be  grow- 
ing old,  and  the  idea  of  a  court  alarmed  her.  But  the  fact 
which,  on  this  side  of  the  Alps,  will  appear  incredible  to  the 
last  degree,  is  that  the  count  would  have  given  in  his  resig- 
nation most  joyfully.  At  least  he  contrived  to  convince  his 
friend  that  so  it  was.  Every  letter  of  his  besought  her,  with 
ever-growing  eagerness,  to  grant  him  another  interview  at 
Milan.  She  did  so.  **  If  I  were  to  swear  that  I  loved  you 
madly,"  she  said  to  him,  "  I  should  lie  to  you.  I  should 
be  only  too  happy  if,  now  that  I  am  past  thirty,  I  could  love 
as  I  loved  at  two-and-twenty.  But  too  many  things  which  I 
believed  eternal  have  faded  from  my  sight.  I  have  the  most 
tender  affection  for  you,  I  feel  the  most  unbounded  con- 
fidence in  you,  and  I  prefer  you  to  every  other  man  I 
know."  She  believed  herself  perfectly  sincere,  but  the  close 
of  this  declaration  was  not  absolutely  truthful.  It  may  be 
that  if  Fabrizio  had  chosen  he  might  have  swept  everything 
else  out  of  her  heart,  but  Fabrizio,  in  Count  Mosca's  eyes, 
was  no  more  than  a  child.  The  minister  arrived  in  Milan 
three  days  after  the  young  madcap  had  departed  for  Novara, 
and  lost  no  time  in  speaking  to  Baron  Binder  in  his  favour. 
The  count's  opinion  was,  that  there  was  no  chance  of  saving 
the  youth  from  banishment. 

He  had  not  come  to  Milan  alone.  In  his  carriage  had 
travelled  the  Duke  Sanseverina-Taxis — a  nice-looking  little 
old  man  of  sixty-eight,  gray-haired,  polished,  well-groomed, 
immensely  rich,  but  of  inadequate  birth.  His  grandfather 
had  amassed  millions  of  money  by  farming  the  revenues  of 
the  state  of  Parma.  His  father  had  induced  the  then  reign- 
ing prince  to  appoint  him  his  ambassador  at  a  certain  court, 
by  means  of  the  following  argument :  "  Your  Highness  al- 
lows your  envoy  at  the  court  of thirty  thousand  francs 

a  year,  and  he  cuts  a  very  poor  figure  on  the  money.  If 
your  Highness  will  appoint  me  I  will  be  content  with  a 
salary  of  six  thousand  francs;  I  will  never  spend  less  than 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year  on  my  embassy,  and  my 
man  of  business  shall  pay  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year  to 

109 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  Department  of  Foreign  Affairs  at  Parma.  This  sum  will 
be  the  salary  of  any  secretary  of  my  embassy  selected  by 
the  government.  I  shall  show  no  jealousy  about  being  in- 
formed as  to  diplomatic  secrets,  if  any  such  exist.  My  ob- 
ject is  to  shed  honour  on  my  family,  which  is  still  a  new 
one,  and  to  increase  its  dignity  by  holding  a  great  official 
position."  The  present  duke,  son  of  the  ambassador,  had 
been  clumsy  enough  to  betray  some  Liberal  tendencies,  and 
for  the  last  two  years  he  had  been  in  a  state  of  despair.  He 
had  lost  two  or  three  millions  in  Napoleon's  time,  by  his 
obstinate  insistence  on  remaining  abroad,  and  notwithstand- 
ing this  he  had  failed,  since  the  sovereigns  had  been  re- 
established in  Europe,  to  obtain  a  certain  great  order  which 
figured  in  his  father's  portrait.  The  absence  of  this  order 
was  wasting  him  away  with  sorrow. 

So  complete  is  the  intimacy  which  in  Italy  results  on 
love,  that  personal  vanity  could  be  no  stumbling-block  be- 
tween the  two  friends.  It  was,  therefore,  with  the  most  per- 
fect simplicity  that  Mosca  said  to  the  woman  he  worshipped : 
"  I  have  two  or  three  plans  to  suggest  to  you,  all  of  them 
fairly  well  laid.  I  have  dreamed  of  nothing  else  for  the 
last  three  months.  First,  I  can  resign,  and  we  will  live 
quietly  at  Milan,  Florence,  Naples,  or  where  you  will.  We 
have  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year,  independently  of  the 
prince's  bounty  to  us,  which  will  last  for  a  time,  at  all  events. 
Second,  if  you  will  condescend  to  come  to  the  country 
where  I  have  some  power,  you  will  buy  a  country  place — 
let  us  say  Sacca,  for  instance,  a  charming  house  in  the  forest 
overlooking  the  Po ;  you  can  have  the  contract  of  sale  duly 
signed  within  a  week.  The  prince  will  give  you  a  position 
at  his  court.  But  here  a  great  difficulty  comes  in.  You 
would  be  well  received  at  court,  nobody  would  venture  to 
hesitate  as  to  that  in  my  presence,  and  besides,  the  princess 
thinks  she  is  unfortunate,  and  I  have  just  rendered  her  sev- 
eral services  with  an  eye  to  your  benefit.  But  there  is  one 
capital  objection  of  which  I  must  remind  you.  The  prince 
is  exceedingly  religious,  and,  as  you  know,  I  am,  unluckily, 
a  married  man.  This  would  give  rise  to  innumerable  small 
difficulties.    You  are  a  widow,  and  that  charming  title  must 

no 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

be    exchanged    for    another.      Here    my    third    proposal 
comes  in. 

"  It  would  be  easy  enough  to  find  a  husband  who  would 
give  us  no  trouble,  but,  above  all  things,  we  must  have  a  man 
of  considerable  age — for  why  should  you  refuse  me  the  hope 
of  taking  his  place  some  day?  Well,  I  have  arranged  this 
curious  business  with  the  Duke  Sanseverina-Taxis,  who  is 
quite  ignorant,  of  course,  of  the  name  of  his  future  duchess. 
All  he  knows  about  her  is  that  she  will  make  him  an  am- 
bassador and  will  procure  him  the  order  his  father  held,  and 
without  which  he  himself  is  the  most  unhappy  of  men. 
Apart  from  that  mania  the  duke  is  by  no  means  a  fool.  He 
gets  his  coats  and  wigs  from  Paris ;  he  is  not  at  all  the  kind 
of  man  who  deliberately  plots  wickedness.  He  honestly 
believes  that  his  honour  is  involved  in  wearing  that  particu- 
lar order,  and  he  is  ashamed  of  his  money.  A  year  ago  he 
came  and  proposed  to  me  to  build  a  hospital,  so  as  to  get 
his  order.  I  larghed  at  him,  but  he  did  not  laugh  at  me 
when  I  proposed  this  marriage.  My  first  condition,  of 
course,  was  that  he  was  never  to  set  his  foot  in  Parma 
again." 

-  "  But  do  you  know  that  the  suggestion  you  make  to 
me  is  exceedingly  immoral  ?  "  said  the  countess. 

"  Not  more  immoral  than  everything  else  at  our  court, 
and  at  twenty  others.  There's  one  convenience  about  abso- 
lute power,  that  it  sanctifies  everything  in  the  eyes  of  the 
people.  Now  where  is  the  importance  of  an  absurdity  that 
nobody  notices  ?  Our  policy  for  the  next  twenty  years  will 
consist  in  being  afraid  of  the  Jacobins,  and  what  a  terror 
it  will  be!  Every  year  we  shall  believe  ourselves  on  the 
brink  of  another  '93.  Some  day,  I  hope,  you  will  hear  the 
remarks  I  make  on  that  subject  at  my  receptions ;  they  are 
really  fine !  Everything  which  may  tend  to  diminish  this 
terror,  however  little,  will  be  superlatively  moral  in  the  eyes 
of  the  nobles  and  the  bigots.  Now,  at  Parma  every  one 
who  is  not  either  noble  or  a  bigot  is  in  prison,  or  on  the 
road  thither.  You  may  be  quite  sure  that  till  the  day  I 
am  disgraced  no  one  will  think  this  marriage  the  least  ex- 
traordinary.    The  arrangement  involves  no  dishonesty  to 

III 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

any  one,  and  that,  I  imagine,  is  the  great  point.  The  prince, 
whose  favour  is  our  stock  in  trade,  has  only  imposed  one 
condition  to  insure  his  consent — that  the  future  duchess 
should  be  of  noble  birth.  Last  year,  as  far  as  I  can  reckon, 
my  post  brought  me  in  a  hundred  and  seven  thousand 
francs,  and  my  whole  income  must  have  been  a  hundred  and 
twenty-two  thousand.  I  have  invested  a  sum  of  twenty 
thousand  francs  at  Lyons.  Now,  you  must  choose  between 
a  life  of  splendour,  with  a  hundred  and  twenty-two  thousand 
francs  a  year  to  spend — which  in  Parma  would  be  as  much 
as  four  hundred  thousand  in  Milan  (but  in  this  case  you 
must  accept  the  marriage  which  will  give  you  the  name  of  a 
very  decent  man,  whom  you  will  never  see  except  at  the 
altar) — or  a  modest  existence  on  fifteen  thousand  francs  a 
year  at  Florence  or  Naples — for  I  agree  with  you,  you  have 
been  too  much  admired  at  Milan,  We  should  be  tormented 
by  envy  there,  and  it  might  end  by  making  us  unhappy. 
The  life  at  Parma  would,  I  hope,  have  some  charm  of  nov- 
elty, even  for  you  who  have  seen  the  court  of  Prince 
Eugene.  It  would  be  worth  your  while  to  make  acquaint- 
ance with  it  before  we  close  that  door.  Do  not  think  I  de- 
sire to  influence  your  decision.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
my  choice  is  made.  I  would  rather  live  with  you  on  a  fourth 
floor  than  continue  alone  in  my  great  position." 

The  possibility  of  this  strange  marriage  was  discussed 
daily  between  the  lovers.  The  countess  saw  the  duke  at  a 
ball  at  the  Scala,  and  thought  him  very  presentable.  In  one 
of  their  last  conversations,  Mosca  thus  summed  up  the 
matter :  "  We  must  take  some  decisive  step  if  we  want  to 
spend  our  lives  happily,  and  not  to  grow  old  before  our 
time.  The  prince  has  given  his  approbation.  Sanseverina 
is  really  rather  attractive  than  otherwise.  He  owns  the 
finest  palace  in  Parma  and  a  huge  fortune ;  he  is  sixty-eight 
years  old,  and  is  madly  in  love  with  the  Collar  of  an  Order ; 
but  there  is  one  great  blot  upon  his  life — he  bought  a  bust 
of  Napoleon  by  Canova,  for  ten  thousand  francs.  His  sec- 
ond misdoing,  which  will  be  the  death  of  him  if  you  do  not 
come  to  his  rescue,  is  that  he  once  lent  twenty-five  napo- 
leons to  Ferrante  Palla,  a  madman,  from  our  country,  but 

112 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

a  man  of  genius  all  the  same,  whom  we  have  since  con- 
demned to  death — by  default,  I  am  happy  to  say.  This 
Ferrante  once  wrote  two  hundred  lines  of  poetry,  which  are 
quite  unrivalled.  I  will  recite  them  to  you ;  they  are  as  fine 
as  Dante.    The  prince  will  send  Sanseverina  to  the  court  of 

.     He  will  marry  you  the  day  he  starts,  and  in  the 

second  year  of  his  journey — which  he  calls  an  embassy — 
he  will  receive  the  collar  of  the  order  for  which  he  sighs. 
In  him  you  will  find  a  brother,  whom  you  will  not  dislike. 
He  is  ready  to  sign  every  document  I  give  him  beforehand, 
and,  besides,  you  will  see  him  hardly  ever,  or  never,  just 
as  you  choose.  He  will  be  glad  not  to  show  himself  in 
Parma,  where  the  memory  of  his  grandfather,  the  farmer 
general,  and  his  own  imputed  liberalism  make  him  feel  un- 
comfortable. Rassi,  our  persecutor,  declares  that  the  duke 
subscribed  secretly  to  the  Constitutionnel,  through  Fer- 
rante, the  poet;  and  for  a  long  time  this  calumny  was  a 
serious  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  prince's  consent." 

Why  should  the  historian  be  blamed  for  faithfully  re- 
producing the  smallest  details  of  the  story  he  has  heard? 
Is  it  his  fault  if  certain  persons,  led  away  by  a  passion 
which  he,  unfortunately  for  himself,  does  not  share,  stoop  to 
actions  of  the  deepest  immorality?  It  is  true,  indeed,  that 
this  sort  of  thing  is  no  longer  done  in  a  country  where  the 
only  passion — that  which  has  survived  all  others — is  the 
love  of  money,  which  is  the  food  of  vanity  ? 

Three  months  after  the  events  above  related,  the  Duchess 
Sanseverina-Taxis  was  astonishing  the  court  of  Parma  by 
her  easy  charm  and  the  noble  serenity  of  her  intellect.  Her 
house  was  beyond  all  comparison  the  most  agreeable  in  the 
city.  This  fulfilled  the  promise  made  by  Count  Mosca  to  his 
master.  The  reigning  prince,  Ranuzio-Ernest  IV,  and  the 
princess,  his  wife,  to  whom  the  duchess  was  presented  by 
two  of  the  greatest  ladies  in  the  country,  received  her  with 
the  utmost  respect.  She  had  been  curious  to  see  the  prince, 
the  arbiter  of  the  fate  of  the  man  she  loved.  She  desired  to 
please  him,  and  succeeded  only  too  well.  She  beheld  a 
man  of  tall  and  somewhat  heavy  build ;  his  hair,  mustaches, 
and  huge  whiskers  were  of  what  his  courtiers  called  a  beau- 

113 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

tiful  golden  colour;  elsewhere  their  dull  tinge  would  have 
earned  the  unflattering  title  of  tow.  From  the  middle  of  a 
large  face  there  projected,  very  slightly,  a  tiny,  almost 
feminine  nose.  But  the  duchess  remarked  that  to  realize  all 
these  various  uglinesses  a  close  examination  of  the  royal 
features  was  necessary.  Taking  him  altogether,  the  prince 
had  the  appearance  of  a  clever  and  resolute  man.  His  air 
and  manner  were  not  devoid  of  majesty,  but  very  often  he 
took  it  into  his  head  to  try  and  impress  the  person  to 
whom  he  was  speaking;  then  he  grew  confused  himself, 
and  rocked  almost  perpetually  from  one  leg  to  the  other. 
Apart  from  this,  Ernest  IV's  glance  was  penetrating  and 
authoritative.  There  was  something  noble  about  the  ges- 
ture of  his  arm,  and  his  speech  was  both  measured 
and  concise. 

Mosca  had  warned  the  duchess  that  the  prince's  audience 
chamber  contained  a  full-length  portrait  of  Louis  XIV  and 
a  very  fine  Florentine  scagliola  table.  The  imitation  struck 
her  very  much.  It  was  evident  that  the  prince  sought  to 
reproduce  the  noble  look  and  utterance  of  Louis  XIV,  and 
that  he  leaned  against  the  scagliola  table  so  as  to  make 
himself  look  like  Joseph  II.  Immediately  after  his  first 
words  to  the  duchess  he  seated  himself,  so  as  to  give  her  an 
opportunity  of  making  use  of  the  tabouret  which  her  rank 
conferred  on  her.  At  this  court  the  only  ladies  who  have 
a  right  to  sit  are  duchesses,  princesses,  and  wives  of  Spanish 
grandees.  The  rest  all  wait  until  the  prince  or  princess  in- 
vites them  to  be  seated,  and  these  august  persons  are 
always  careful  to  mark  the  degree  of  rank  by  allowing  a 
short  interval  to  elapse  before  giving  this  permission  to  a 
lady  of  less  rank  than  a  duchess.  The  duchess  thought  the 
prince's  imitation  of  Louis  XIV  was  occasionally  somewhat 
too  marked,  as,  for  instance,  when  he  threw  back  his  head 
and  smiled  good-naturedly. 

Ernest  IV  wore  a  dress-coat  of  the  fashion  then  reign- 
ing in  Paris.  Every  month  he  received  from  that  city,  which 
he  abhorred,  a  dress-coat,  a  walking-coat,  and  a  hat.  But 
on  the  day  of  the  duchess's  visit  he  had  attired  himself,  with 
a  whimsical  mixture  of  styles,  in  red  pantaloons,  silk  stock- 

114 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ings,  and  very  high  shoes,  such  as  may  be  observed  in  the 
pictures  of  Joseph  II. 

He  received  the  lady  graciously,  and  said  several  sharp 
and  witty  things  to  her.  But  she  saw  very  clearly  that 
civil  as  her  reception  was,  there  was  no  excessive  warmth 
about  it.  "  And  do  you  know  why  ?  "  said  Count  Mosca, 
when  she  returned  from  her  audience.  "  It  is  because  Milan 
is  a  larger  and  finer  city  than  Parma.  He  was  afraid  that 
if  he  received  you  as  I  expected,  and  as  he  had  given  me 
reason  to  hope,  you  would  take  him  for  a  provincial  per- 
son, in  ecstasies  over  the  charms  of  a  fine  lady  just  arrived 
from  the  capital.  Doubtless,  too,  he  is  vexed  by  a  pecu- 
liarity which  I  hardly  dare  express  to  you.  The  prince 
sees  no  lady  at  his  court  who  can  compete  with  you  in 
beauty ;  last  night,  when  he  was  going  to  bed,  that  was  the 
sole  subject  of  his  conversation  with  Pernice,  his  chief  valet, 
who  is  a  friend  of  mine.  I  foresee  a  small  revolution  in 
matters  of  etiquette.  My  greatest  enemy  at  this  court  is 
a  blockhead  who  goes  by  the  name  of  General  Fabio  Conti. 
You  must  imagine  an  extraordinary  creature  who  has  spent 
one  full  day  of  his  whole  life,  perhaps,  on  active  service,  and 
who  therefore  gives  himself  the  airs  of  a  Frederick  the 
Great;  and,  further,  because  he  is  the  head  of  the  Liberal 
party  here  (God  alone  knows  how  liberal  they  are !),  endeav- 
ours to  reproduce  the  noble  affability  of  General  Lafay- 
ette." 

"  I  know  Fabio  Conti,"  said  the  duchess.  "  I  had  a 
glimpse  of  him  at  Como ;  he  was  quarrelling  with  the  gen- 
darmes." She  related  the  little  incident,  which  my  readers 
may  possibly  recollect. 

"  Some  of  these  days,  madam — if  your  intellect  ever 
contrives  to  probe  the  depths  of  our  etiquette — you  will 
become  aware  that  no  young  lady  is  presented  at  this  court 
till  after  her  marriage.  Well,  so  fervent  is  our  prince's 
patriotic  conviction  of  the  superiority  of  his  own  city  of 
Parma  over  every  other,  that  I  am  ready  to  wager  any- 
thing he  will  find  means  to  have  young  Clelia  Conti,  our 
Lafayette's  daughter,  presented  to  him.  She  is  a  charm- 
ing creature,  on  my  honour,  and  only  a  week  ago  was 

115 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

supposed  to  be  the  loveliest  person  in  the  prince's  do- 
minions. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  the  count  went  on,  "  whether  the  hor- 
rible stories  put  about  by  our  sovereign's  enemies  have 
travelled  as  far  as  Grianta.  He  is  described  as  a  monster 
and  an  ogre.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Ernest  IV  is  full  of  good 
commonplace  virtues,  and  it  might  be  added  that  if  he  had 
been  as  invulnerable  as  Achilles  he  would  have  continued 
to  be  a  model  potentate.  But  in  a  fit  of  boredom  and  bad 
temper,  and  a  little,  too,  for  the  sake  of  imitating  Louis 
XIV,  who  found  some  hero  of  the  Fronde  living  quietly 
and  insolently  in  a  country  house  close  to  Versailles  fifty 
years  after  the  close  of  that  rebellion,  and  forthwith  cut  oflf 
his  head,  Ernest  IV  had  two  Liberals  hanged.  These  im- 
pudent fellows  were  in  the  habit,  it  appears,  of  meeting  on 
certain  days  to  speak  evil  of  the  prince  and  earnestly  im- 
plore Heaven  to  send  a  plague  on  Parma,  and  so  deliver 
them  from  the  tyrant.  The  use  of  the  word  "  tyrant "  was 
absolutely  proved.  Rassi  declared  this  was  a  conspiracy; 
he  had  them  sentenced  to  death,  and  the  execution  of  one 

of  them.  Count  L ,  was  a  horrible  business.     All  this 

happened  before  my  time.  Ever  since  that  fatal  moment," 
continued  the  count,  dropping  his  voice,  "  the  prince  has 
been  subject  to  fits  of  terror  which  are  unworthy  of  any 
man,  but  which  are  the  sole  and  only  source  of  the  favour 
I  enjoy.  If  it  were  not  for  the  sovereign's  alarms,  my 
particular  style  of  excellence  would  be  too  rough  and 
rugged  to  suit  this  court,  where  stupidity  reigns  supreme. 
Will  you  believe  that  the  prince  looks  under  every  bed  in 
his  apartments  before  he  gets  into  his  own,  and  spends  a 
million  yearly — which  at  Parma  is  what  four  millions  would 
be  at  Milan — to  insure  himself  a  good  police  force.  The 
head  of  that  terrible  police  force,  madam,  now  stands  before 
you.  Through  the  police — that  is  to  say,  through  the 
prince's  terrors — I  have  become  Minister  of  War  and  of 
Finance ;  and  as  the  Minister  of  the  Interior  is  my  nominal 
chief — insomuch  as  the  police  falls  within  his  department — 
I  have  caused  that  portfolio  to  be  bestowed  on  Count  Zurla- 
Contarini,  an  idiot  who  delights  in  work,  and  is  never  so 

Ii6 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

happy  as  when  he  can  write  eighty  letters  in  a  day.  This 
very  morning  I  have  received  one  on  which  the  count  has 
had  the  pleasure  of  writing  No.  20,715  with  his  own  hand." 

The  Duchess  Sanseverina  was  presented  to  the  melan- 
choly-looking Princess  of  Parma,  Clara  Paolina,  who,  be- 
cause her  husband  had  a  mistress  (the  Marchesa  Balbi,  a 
rather  pretty  woman),  thought  herself  the  unhappiest,  and 
had  thus  become  the  most  tiresome  woman,  perhaps,  in  the 
universe. 

The  duchess  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  a  very  tall 
and  thin  woman,  who  had  not  reached  the  age  of  six-and- 
thirty,  and  who  looked  fifty.  Her  face,  with  its  noble  and 
regular  features,  might  have  been  thought  beautiful,  in 
spite  of  a  pair  of  large  round  eyes,  out  of  which  she  could 
hardly  see,  if  the  princess  had  not  grown  so  utterly  care- 
less of  her  personal  appearance.  She  received  the  duchess 
with  such  evident  shyness  that  certain  of  the  courtiers,  who 
hated  Count  Mosca,  ventured  to  remark  that  the  sovereign 
looked  like  the  woman  who  was  being  presented,  and  the 
duchess  like  the  sovereign  who  received  her.  The  duchess, 
surprised  and  almost  put  out  of  countenance,  did  not  know 
what  terms  she  should  employ  to  indicate  the  inferiority  of 
her  own  position  to  that  which  the  princess  chose  to  take 
up.  The  only  thing  she  could  devise  to  restore  some  com- 
posure to  the  poor  princess,  who  was  really  not  lacking  in 
intelligence,  was  to  begin  and  carry  on  a  long  dissertation 
on  the  subject  of  botany.  The  princess  really  knew  a  great 
deal  about  the  subject;  she  had  very  fine  hot-houses  filled 
with  tropical  plants.  The  duchess,  while  simply  attempting 
to  get  out  of  her  own  difficulty,  made  a  lasting  conquest 
of  the  Princess  Clara  Paolina,  who,  timid  and  nervous  as 
she  had  been  at  the  opening  of  the  audience,  was  so  perfectly 
at  her  ease  before  its  close  that,  contrary  to  every  rule  of 
etiquette,  this  first  reception  lasted  no  less  than  an  hour  and 
a  quarter.  The  very  next  day  the  duchess  purchased  quan- 
tities of  exotic  plants,  and  gave  herself  out  as  a  great  lover 
of  botany. 

The  princess  spent  all  her  time  with  the  venerable  Father 
Landriani,  Archbishop  of  Parma,  a  learned  and  even  a  witty 

117 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

man,  and  a  perfectly  well-mannered  man  into  the  bargain. 
But  it  was  a  curious  sight  to  see  him,  enthroned  in  the 
crimson  velvet  chair  which  he  occupied  by  virtue  of  his 
ofifice,  opposite  the  arm-chair  in  which  the  princess  sat, 
surrounded  by  her  ladies  of  honour  and  her  two  ladies  in 
waiting.  The  aged  prelate,  with  his  long  white  hair,  was 
even  more  shy,  if  that  were  possible,  than  the  princess. 
They  met  every  day  of  their  lives,  and  every  audience 
began  with  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  of  silence — to  such  a 
point  indeed,  that  one  of  the  ladies  in  waiting,  the  Coun- 
tess Alvizi,  had  become  a  sort  of  favourite  because  she 
possessed  the  knack  of  encouraging  them  to  open  their 
lips,  and  making  them  break  the  stillness. 

To  wind  up  her  presentations,  the  duchess  was  received 
by  the  hereditary  prince,  who  was  taller  than  his  father,  and 
even  shyer  than  his  mother.  He  was  sixteen  years  old,  and 
an  authority  on  mineralogy.  When  the  duchess  appeared 
he  blushed  scarlet,  and  was  so  put  out  that  he  was  quite 
unable  to  invent  anything  to  say  to  the  fair  lady.  He  was 
very  good-looking,  and  spent  his  whole  life  in  the  woods 
with  a  hammer  in  his  hand.  When  the  duchess  rose  to  her 
feet  to  bring  the  silent  audience  to  a  close, 

"  Heavens,  madam,"  he  cried,  "how  beautiful  you 
are!"  and  the  lady  who  had  been  presented  to  him  did  not 
think  the  remark  altogether  ill-chosen. 

The  Marchesa  Balbi,  a  young  woman  of  five-and-twenty, 
might,  some  two  or  three  years  before  the  arrival  of  the 
duchess  in  Parma,  have  been  quoted  as  a  most  perfect  type 
of  Italian  beauty.  She  still  had  the  loveliest  eyes  in  the 
world,  and  the  most  graceful  little  gestures.  But  close  ob- 
servation showed  her  skin  to  be  covered  with  innumerable 
tiny  wrinkles,  which  made  her  into  a  young-looking  old 
woman.  Seen  from  a  distance,  in  her  box  at  the  theatre, 
for  instance,  she  was  still  beautiful,  and  the  good  people 
in  the  pit  thought  the  prince  showed  very  good  taste.  He 
spent  all  the  evenings  in  the  Marchesa  Balbi's  house,  but 
frequently  without  opening  his  lips,  and  her  consciousness 
that  the  prince  was  bored  had  worried  the  poor  woman  into 
a  condition  of  extraordinary  thinness.     She  gave  her«rlf 

Ii8 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

airs  of  excessive  cleverness,  and  was  always  smiling  archly. 
She  had  the  most  beautiful  teeth  in  the  world,  and  in  season 
and  out  she  endeavoured  to  smile  people  into  the  belief  that 
she  meant  something  different  from  what  she  was  saying. 
Count  Mosca  declared  it  was  this  perpetual  smile — while 
she  was  yawning  in  her  heart — which  had  given  her  so 
many  wrinkles.  The  Balbi  had  her  finger  in  every  business, 
and  the  state  could  not  conclude  a  bargain  of  a  thousand 
francs  without  a  "  remembrance,"  so  it  was  politely  termed 
at  Parma,  for  the  marchesa.  According  to  public  report 
she  had  invested  six  millions  of  francs  in  England,  but  her 
fortune,  which  was  certainly  a  thing  of  recent  growth,  did 
not  really  exceed  one  million  five  hundred  thousand  francs. 
It  was  to  protect  himself  from  her  cunning  and  to  keep  her 
dependent  on  him  that  Mosca  had  made  himself  Minister 
of  Finance.  The  marchesa's  sole  passion  was  fear,  disguised 
in  the  shape  of  sordid  avarice.  "  I  shall  die  destitute,"  she 
would  sometimes  say  to  the  prince,  who  was  furious  at  the 
very  idea.  The  duchess  remarked  that  the  splendid  gilded 
antechamber  of  the  Balbi's  palace  was  lighted  by  a  solitary 
candle,  which  was  guttering  down  on  to  a  precious  marble 
table,  and  her  drawing-room  doors  were  blackened  by  the 
servants'  fingers.  "  She  received  me,"  said  the  duchess  to 
her  friend,  "  as  if  she  expected  me  to  give  her  a  gratuity  of 
fifty  francs!" 

The  tide  of  these  successes  was  somewhat  checked  by 
the  reception  the  duchess  received  at  the  hands  of  the  clev- 
erest woman  at  the  court  of  Parma,  the  celebrated  Mar- 
chesa Raversi,  a  consummate  intrigante,  who  led  the  party 
opposed  to  Count  Mosca.  She  was  bent  on  his  overthrow, 
and  had  been  so  more  especially  during  the  last  few  months, 
for  she  was  the  Duke  Sanseverina's  niece,  and  was  afraid  the 
charms  of  the  new  duchess  might  diminish  her  own  share 
of  his  inheritance. 

"  The  Raversi  is  by  no  means  a  woman  to  be  over- 
looked," said  the  count  to  his  friend.  "  So  great  is  my  opin- 
ion of  her  capacity  that  I  separated  from  my  wife  simply 
and  solely  because  she  insisted  on  taking  one  of  the  mar- 
chesa's friends,  the  Cavaliere  Bentivoglio,  as  her  lover." 

119 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  Marchesa  Raversi,  a  tall,  masterful  woman,  with 
very  black  hair,  remarkable  for  the  diamonds  which  she 
wore  even  in  the  daytime,  and  for  the  rouge  with  which 
she  covered  her  face,  had  declared  her  enmity  to  the  duchess 
beforehand,  and  was  careful  to  begin  hostile  operations  as 
soon  as  she  beheld  her.  Sanseverina's  letters  betrayed  so 
much  satisfaction  with  his  embassy,  and  especially  such  de- 
light in  his  hope  of  obtaining  his  much-coveted  order,  that 
his  family  feared  he  might  leave  part  of  his  fortune  to 
his  wife,  on  whom  he  showered  a  succession  of  trifling  pres- 
ents. The  Raversi,  though  a  thoroughly  ugly  woman,  had 
a  lover.  Count  Baldi,  the  best-looking  man  about  the  court. 
As  a  general  rule  she  succeeded  in  everything  she  under- 
took. 

The  duchess  kept  up  a  magnificent  establishment.  The 
Palazzo  Sanseverina  had  always  been  one  of  the  most  splen- 
did in  Parma,  and  the  duke,  in  honour  of  his  embassy  and 
his  expected  decoration,  was  spending  large  sums  on  im- 
provements.   The  duchess  superintended  all  these  changes. 

The  count  had  guessed  aright.  A  few  days  after  the 
duchess's  presentation  the  young  Clelia  Conti  appeared  at 
court ;  she  had  been  created  a  canoness.  To  parry  the  blow 
the  conferring  of  this  favour  might  appear  to  have  given  the 
count's  credit,  the  duchess,  under  pretext  of  opening  the 
gardens  of  her  palace,  gave  a  fete,  and  in  her  graceful  way 
made  Clelia,  whom  she  called  her  "  little  friend  from  the 
Lake  of  Como,"  the  queen  of  the  revels.  Her  initials  ap- 
peared, as  though  by  chance,  on  all  the  chief  transparencies 
which  adorned  the  grounds.  The  youthful  Clelia,  though  a 
trifle  pensive,  spoke  in  the  most  charming  fashion  of  her 
little  adventure  on  the  shore  of  the  lake,  and  of  her  own 
sincere  gratitude.  She  was  said  to  be  very  devout  and  fond 
of  solitude.  "  Til  wager,"  said  the  count,  "  she's  clever 
enough  to  be  ashamed  of  her  father !  "  The  duchess  made 
a  friend  of  the  young  girl ;  she  really  felt  drawn  toward  her. 
She  did  not  wish  to  appear  jealous,  and  included  her  in  all 
her  entertainments.  She  made  it  her  rule  to  endeavour  to 
soften  all  the  various  hatreds  of  which  the  count  was  the 
object. 

120 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Everything  smiled  on  the  duchess.  The  court  exis- 
tence, over  which  the  storm-cloud  always  hangs  threaten- 
ingly, entertained  her.  Life  seemed  to  have  begun  afresh 
for  her ;  she  was  tenderly  attached  to  the  count,  and  he  was 
literally  beside  himself  with  delight.  His  private  happiness 
had  endued  him  with  the  most  absolute  composure  regard- 
ing matters  which  only  affected  his  ambition,  and  hardly 
two  months  after  the  duchess's  arrival  he  received  his  patent 
as  Prime  Minister,  and  all  the  honours  appertaining  to  that 
position,  which  fell  but  little  short  of  those  rendered  to  the 
sovereign  himself.  The  count's  influence  over  his  master's 
mind  was  all  powerful.  A  striking  proof  of  the  fact  was 
soon  to  become  evident  in  Parma. 

Ten  minutes'  walk  from  the  town,  toward  the  southeast, 
rises  the  far-famed  citadel,  renowned  all  over  Italy,  the  great 
tower  of  which,  some  hundred  and  eighty  feet  high,  may 
be  descried  from  an  immense  distance.  This  tower,  built 
toward  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century  by  the 
Famese,  grandsons  of  Paul  III,  in  imitation  of  the  Mauso- 
leum of  Adrian  at  Rome,  is  so  thick  that  room  has  been 
found  on  the  terrace  at  one  end  of  it,  to  build  a  palace  for 
the  governor  of  the  citadel,  and  a  more  modern  prison, 
known  as  the  Farnese  Tower.  This  citadel,  built  in  honour 
of  Ranuzio-Ernest  II,  who  had  been  his  own  stepmother's 
favourite  lover,  has  a  great  reputation  in  the  country,  both 
for  its  beauty  and  as  a  curiosity.  The  duchess  took  a  fancy 
to  see  it.  On  the  day  of  her  visit,  the  heat  in  Parma  had  been 
most  oppressive.  At  the  altitude  on  which  the  prison  stood 
she  found  a  breeze,  and  was  so  delighted  that  she  remained 
there  several  hours.  Rooms  in  the  Farnese  Tower  were 
immediately  opened  for  her  convenience. 

On  the  terrace  of  the  great  tower  she  met  a  poor  im- 
prisoned Liberal,  who  had  come  up  to  enjoy  the  half-hour's 
walk  allowed  him  every  third  day.  She  returned  to  Parma, 
and  not  having  yet  attained  the  discretion  indispensable  at 
an  autocratic  court,  she  talked  about  the  man,  who  had  told 
her  his  whole  story.  The  Marchesa  Raversi's  party  laid 
hold  of  the  duchess's  remarks,  and  made  a  great  deal  of 
them,  in  the  eager  hope  that  they  would  g^ve  umbrage  to 

121 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  prince.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Ernest  IV  was  fond  of 
reiterating  that  the  great  point  was  to  strike  people's  im- 
aginations. "  Forever,"  he  would  say,  "  is  a  great  word, 
and  sheds  more  terror  in  Italy  than  anywhere  else."  Con- 
sequently he  had  never  granted  a  pardon  in  his  life.  A  week 
after  her  visit  to  the  fortress,  the  duchess  received  a  written 
commutation  of  a  prisoner's  sentence,  signed  by  the  prince 
and  minister,  and  with  the  name  left  blank.  Any  prisoner 
whose  name  she  might  insert  was  to  recover  his  confiscated 
property,  and  to  be  allowed  to  depart  to  America  and  there 
spend  the  remainder  of  his  days.  The  duchess  wrote  the 
name  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had  spoken.  By  ill-luck  he 
happened  to  be  a  sort  of  half-rascal,  a  weak-hearted  fellow. 
It  was  on  his  confessions  that  the  celebrated  Ferrante  Palla 
had  been  condemned  to  death. 

The  peculiar  circumstances  connected  with  this  pardon 
crowned  the  Duchess  Sanseverina's  success.  Count  Mosca 
was  deliriously  happy.  It  was  one  of  the  brightest  mo- 
ments in  his  life,  and  had  a  decisive  influence  on  Fabrizio's 
future.  The  young  man  was  still  at  Romagnano,  near  No- 
vara,  confessing  his  sins,  hunting,  reading  nothing  at  all, 
and  making  love  to  a  high-born  lady — according  to  the  in- 
structions given  him.  The  duchess  was  still  somewhat  dis- 
gusted by  this  last  stipulation.  Another  sign,  which  was 
not  a  good  one  for  the  count,  was  that  though  on  every 
other  subject  she  was  absolutely  frank  with  him,  and,  in  fact, 
thought  aloud  in  his  presence,  she  never  mentioned  Fabrizio 
without  having  carefully  prepared  her  sentence  beforehand. 

"  If  you  wish  it,"  said  the  count  to  her  one  day,  "  I  will 
write  to  that  delightful  brother  of  yours  on  the  Lake  of 
Como,  and  with  a  little  trouble  on  my  own  part  and  that  of 
my  friends,  I  can  certainly  force  the  Marchese  del  Dongo 
to  sue  for  mercy  for  your  dear  Fabrizio.  If  it  be  true — 
and  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  it  was  not — that  the  boy  is 
somewhat  superior  to  the  majority  of  the  young  men  who 
ride  their  horses  up  and  down  the  streets  of  Milan,  what  a 
life  lies  before  him !  that  of  a  man  who  at  eighteen  years 
old  has  nothing  to  do,  and  never  expects  to  have  any  occu- 
pation.   If  Heaven  had  granted  him  a  real  passion  for  any- 

122 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

thing  on  the  face  of  the  earth — even  for  rod-fishing — I 
would  respect  it.  But  what  is  to  become  of  him  at  Milan, 
even  if  he  is  pardoned?  At  one  particular  hour  of  the  day 
he  will  ride  out  upon  the  horse  he  will  have  brought  over 
from  England;  at  another  fixed  hour  sheer  idleness  will 
drive  him  into  the  arms  of  his  mistress,  whom  he  will  care 
for  less  than  he  does  for  his  horse.  Still,  if  you  order  me 
to  do  it,  I  will  endeavour  to  procure  your  nephew  the  op- 
portunity of  leading  that  kind  of  life." 

"  I  should  like  him  to  be  an  officer,"  said  the  duchess. 

"  Could  you  advise  any  sovereign  to  confer  such  a  posi- 
tion, which  may  at  any  moment  become  one  of  some  im- 
portance, on  a  young  man  who,  in  the  first  place,  is  capable 
of  enthusiasm,  and,  in  the  second,  has  proved  his  enthusi- 
asm for  Napoleon  to  the  extent  of  going  to  join  him  at 
Waterloo?  Consider  what  we  should  all  be  now  if  Na- 
poleon had  won  that  battle !  True,  there  would  be  no 
Liberals  for  us  to  dread,  but  the  only  way  in  which  the 
sovereigns  of  the  ancient  families  could  retain  their  thrones 
would  be  by  marrying  his  marshals'  daughters.  For  Fa- 
brizio  the  military  career  would  be  like  the  life  of  a  squirrel 
in  a  cage — constant  movement  and  no  advancement ;  he 
would  have  the  vexation  of  seeing  his  services  outweighed 
by  those  of  any  and  every  plebeian.  The  indispensable 
quality  for  every  young  man  in  the  present  day — that  is  to 
say,  for  the  next  fifty  years,  during  which  time  our  terrors 
will  last,  and  religion  will  not  yet  be  firmly  re-established — 
must  be  lack  of  intelligence  and  incapacity  for  all  enthu- 
siasm. I  have  thought  of  one  thing — but  you  will  begin  by 
crying  out  at  the  very  idea — and  it  is  a  matter  which  would 
give  me  infinite  trouble,  that  would  last  for  many  a  day. 
Still,  it  is  a  folly  that  I  am  ready  to  commit  for  you — and 
tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  folly  I  would  not  commit  for  the 
sake  of  a  smile  from  you  ?  " 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  duchess. 

"  Well !  Three  Archbishops  of  Parma  have  been  mem- 
bers of  your  family — Ascanio  del  Dongo,  who  wrote  a  book 
in  i6 — ;  Fabrizio,  who  was  here  in  1699;  and  another 
Ascanio,  in  1740.     If  Fabrizio  will  enter  the  Church,  and 

123 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

give  proofs  of  first-rate  merit,  I  will  first  of  all  make  him 
bishop  of  some  other  place,  and  then  archbishop  here,  pro- 
vided my  influence  lasts  long  enough.  The  real  objection  is 
this :  Shall  I  continue  in  power  sufficiently  long  to  realize 
this  fine  plan?  It  will  take  several  years.  The  prince  may 
die,  or  he  may  have  the  bad  taste  to  dismiss  me.  Still,  after 
all,  this  is  the  only  means  I  can  perceive  of  doing  anything 
for  Fabrizio  which  will  be  worthy  of  you." 

There  was  a  long  discussion;  the  idea  was  very  repug- 
nant to  the  duchess. 

"  Prove  to  me  once  again,"  said  she  to  the  count,  "  that 
no  other  career  is  possible  for  Fabrizio." 

The  count  repeated  his  arguments,  and  he  added :  "  What 
you  regret  is  the  gay  uniform.  But  in  that  matter  I  am 
powerless." 

The  duchess  asked  for  a  month  to  think  it  over,  and  then, 
with  a  sigh,  she  accepted  the  minister's  wise  counsels.  "  He 
must  either  ride  about  some  big  town  on  an  English  horse, 
with  a  stuck-up  air,  or  take  up  a  way  of  life  which  is  not 
unsuitable  to  his  birth.  I  see  no  middle  course,"  repeated 
the  count.  "  A  nobleman,  unfortunately,  can  not  be  either 
a  doctor  or  a  lawyer,  and  this  is  the  century  of  lawyers. 
But  remember,  madam,"  he  continued,  "  that  it  is  in  your 
power  to  give  your  nephew  the  same  advantages  of  life  in 
Milan  as  are  enjoyed  by  the  young  men  of  his  age  who  are 
considered  to  be  Fortune's  favourites.  Once  his  pardon  is 
granted,  you  can  allow  him  fifteen,  twenty,  or  thirty  thou- 
sand francs  a  year;  the  sum  will  matter  little;  neither  you 
nor  I  expect  to  put  away  money." 

But  the  duchess  pined  for  glory ;  she  did  not  want  her 
nephew  to  be  a  mere  spendthrift.  She  gave  in  her  adhesion 
to  her  lover's  project. 

"  Observe,"  the  count  said  to  her,  "  that  I  do  not  the 
least  claim  that  Fabrizio  should  become  an  exemplary  priest, 
like  so  many  that  you  see  about  you.  No.  First  and  fore- 
most, he  remains  an  aristocrat;  he  can  continue  perfectly 
ignorant  if  he  so  prefers  it,  and  that  will  not  prevent  him 
from  becoming  a  bishop  and  an  archbishop  if  the  prince 
only  continues  to  consider  me  a  useful  servant.     If  your 

124 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

will  condescends  to  change  my  proposal  into  an  immutable 
decree,"  he  continued,  our  protege  must  not  appear  at 
Parma  in  any  modest  position.  His  ultimate  honours  would 
give  umbrage  if  he  had  been  seen  here  as  an  ordinary  priest. 
He  must  not  appear  at  Parma  without  the  violet  stockings  * 
and  all  the  appropriate  surroundings.  Then  everybody  will 
guess  that  your  nephew  is  going  to  be  a  bishop,  and  nobody 
will  find  fault.  If  you  will  be  ruled  by  me,  you  will  send 
Fabrizio  to  Naples  for  three  years  to  study  theology.  Dur- 
ing the  vacations  he  can,  if  he  chooses,  go  and  see  Paris  and 
London,  but  he  must  never  show  himself  at  Parma." 

This  last  sentence  made  the  duchess  shiver.  She  sent  a 
courier  to  her  nephew,  desiring  him  to  meet  her  at  Piacenza. 
I  need  hardly  say  that  the  messenger  carried  all  the  neces- 
sary funds  and  passports. 

Fabrizio,  who  was  the  first  to  arrive  at  Piacenza,  ran  to 
meet  the  duchess,  and  kissed  her  in  a  transport  of  affection, 
which  made  her  burst  into  tears.  She  was  glad  the  count 
was  not  present.  It  was  the  first  time  since  the  beginning  of 
their  liaison  that  she  had  been  conscious  of  such  a  sensation. 

Fabrizio  was  greatly  touched,  and  deeply  distressed, 
also,  by  the  plans  the  duchess  had  made  for  him.  His  hope 
had  always  been  that,  once  his  Waterloo  escapade  had  been 
excused,  he  might  yet  become  a  soldier. 

One  thing  struck  the  duchess  and  increased  her  romantic 
admiration  for  her  nephew;  he  absolutely  refused  to  lead 
the  ordinary  life  of  young  men  in  large  Italian  cities. 

"  Don't  you  see  yourself  at  the  Corso,  in  Florence,  or 
Naples,"  said  the  duchess,  "  riding  your  thorough-bred 
English  horses,  and  then  in  the  evening  your  carriage,  and 
beautiful  rooms,  and  so  forth  ?  "  She  dwelt  with  delight 
on  her  description  of  the  commonplace  enjoyments  from 
which  she  saw  Fabrizio  turn  in  disdain.  "  He  is  a  hero," 
thought  she  to  herself. 

"  And  after  ten  years  of  that  delightful  life,"  said  Fa- 

*  In  Italy,  young  men  who  are  learned  or  protected  in  high  quar- 
ters are  created  monsignori  a.nd  prelatts,  which  does  not  mean  that  they 
are  bishops.  They  then  wear  violet  stockings.  A  monsignore  takes 
no  vows,  and  can  relinquish  his  violet  stockings  if  he  desires  to  marry. 

125 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

brizio,  "  what  shall  I  have  done  ?  What  shall  I  be  ?  Noth- 
ing but  a  middle-aged  young  man  who  will  have  to  make 
way  for  the  first  good-looking  youth  who  rides  into  society 
on  another  English  horse." 

At  first  he  would  not  hear  of  going  into  the  Church.  He 
talked  of  going  to  New  York,  obtaining  citizenship,  and 
serving  as  a  soldier  in  the  republic  of  America. 

"  What  a  mistake  you  will  make !  You  will  have  no 
fighting,  and  you  will  just  fall  back  into  the  old  cafe  life, 
only  without  elegance,  without  music,  and  without  love- 
making,"  replied  the  duchess.  "  Believe  me,  your  life  in 
America  would  be  a  sad  business,  both  for  you  and  me." 
And  she  explained  what  dollar  worship  was,  and  the  respect 
necessarily  paid  to  the  artisan  class,  on  whose  votes  every- 
thing depended.    They  went  back  again  to  the  Church  plan. 

"  Before  you  lose  your  temper  over  it,"  said  the  duchess, 
"  try  to  understand  what  the  count  asks  you  to  do.  It  is  not 
at  all  a  question  of  your  living  a  poor  and  more  or  less  exem- 
plary life,  like  Father  Blanes.  Remember  the  history  of 
your  ancestors,  who  were  Archbishops  of  Parma.  Read 
the  notices  of  their  lives  in  the  Appendix  to  the  Genealogy. 
The  man  who  bears  a  great  name  must  be  first  and  foremost 
a  true  nobleman,  high-hearted,  generous,  a  protector  of 
justice,  destined  from  the  outset  to  stand  at  the  head  of  his 
order,  guilty  of  but  one  piece  of  knavery  in  his  life,  and 
that  a  very  useful  one." 

"  Alas ! "  cried  Fabrizio,  "  so  all  my  illusions  have  van- 
ished into  thin  air ! "  and  he  sighed  deeply.  "  It  is  a  cruel 
sacrifice.  I  confess  I  never  reckoned  with  the  horror  of 
enthusiasm  and  intelligence,  even  when  used  in  their  own 
service,  which  will  reign  for  the  future  among  all  absolute 
sovereigns." 

"  Consider  that  a  proclamation,  or  a  mere  freak  of  the 
affections,  may  drive  an  enthusiastic  man  into  the  opposite 
party  to  that  in  the  service  of  which  he  has  spent  his 
whole  life." 

"  Enthusiastic !  I !  "  repeated  Fabrizio.  "  What  an  ex- 
traordinary accusation!  I  can  not  even  contrive  to  fall  in 
love!" 

126 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess. 

"  When  I  have  the  honour  of  paying  my  court  to  a  beau- 
tiful woman,  even  though  she  be  religious  and  of  the  high- 
est birth,  I  never  can  think  of  her  except  when  I  am  looking 
at  her." 

This  confession  had  a  very  peculiar  effect  upon  the 
duchess. 

"  Give  me  a  month,"  said  Fabrizio,  "  to  take  leave  of 

Signora  C at  Novara,  and,  what  is  far  more  difficult,  to 

bid  farewell  to  the  dreams  of  all  my  life.  I  will  write  to  my 
mother,  who  will  be  good  enough  to  come  and  see  me  at 
Belgirate,  on  the  Piedmontese  shore  of  the  Lago  Maggiore, 
and  on  the  one-and-thirtieth  day  from  this  one  I  will  be 
at  Parma  incognito." 

"  Do  not  dream  of  such  a  thing,"  exclaimed  the  duchess ; 
she  had  no  wish  that  Count  Mosca  should  see  her  with  Fa- 
brizio. 

They  met  once  more  at  Piacenza.  This  time  the 
duchess  was  sorely  agitated.  A  storm  had  broken  at  court. 
The  Marchesa  Raversi's  party  was  on  the  brink  of  triumph ; 
it  was  quite  on  the  cards  that  Count  Mosca  might  be  re- 
placed by  General  Fabio  Conti,  the  head  of  what  was  known 
at  Parma  as  the  Liberal  party.  With  the  exception  of  the 
name  of  the  rival  whose  favour  was  thus  growing  with  the 
prince,  the  duchess  told  Fabrizio  everything.  She  discussed 
all  his  future  chances  over  again,  even  to  the  possibility  that 
the  count's  all-powerful  protection  might  fail  him. 

"  I  am  to  spend  three  years  at  the  Ecclesiastical  Acad- 
emy at  Naples,"  exclaimed  Fabrizio.  "  But  as  I  am  to  be 
first  and  foremost  a  young  man  of  family,  and  as  you  do 
not  expect  me  to  lead  the  severe  life  of  a  virtuous  semina- 
rist, the  idea  of  my  stay  at  Naples  does  not  alarm  me.  The 
life  there  will,  at  all  events,  be  no  worse  than  that  at  Roma- 
gnano.  The  best  company  in  that  place  was  beginning  to 
look  on  me  as  a  Jacobin.  During  my  exile  I  have  discov- 
ered that  I  know  nothing — not  even  Latin — nay,  not  even 
how  to  spell !  I  had  determined  to  begin  my  education 
afresh  at  Novara.  I  shall  be  glad  to  study  theology  at 
Naples ;  it  is  a  complicated  science." 

127 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  duchess  was  overjoyed.  "  If  we  are  dismissed,"  she 
said,  "  we  will  go  and  see  you  at  Naples.  But  as,  for  the 
moment,  you  accept  the  idea  of  the  violet  stockings,  the 
count,  who  knows  the  present  condition  of  Italy  thoroughly, 
has  given  me  a  hint  for  you.  Believe  whatever  is  taught 
you  or  not,  as  you  choose,  but  never  express  any  objection. 
Tell  yourself  you  are  being  taught  the  rules  of  whist; 
would  you  make  any  demur  about  the  rules  of  whist  ?  I  told 
the  count  you  were  a  believer,  and  he  was  very  glad  of  it ; 
it  is  useful  both  in  this  world  and  in  the  next.  But  do  not, 
because  you  believe,  fall  into  the  vulgarity  of  speaking  with 
horror  of  Voltaire,  Diderot,  Raynal,  and  all  the  other  wild 
Frenchmen  who  were  the  precursors  of  the  two  Chambers. 
Those  names  should  hardly  ever  be  pronounced  by  you. 
But  if  the  necessity  should  arise,  you  must  refer  to  them 
with  the  calmest  irony,  as  people  whose  theories  have  long 
since  been  rejected,  and  whose  attacks  are  no  longer  of  the 
slightest  consequence.  Accept  everything  you  are  told  at 
the  academy  with  the  blindest  faith.  Recollect  that  there  are 
individuals  within  its  walls  who  will  take  faithful  note  of 
your  most  trifling  objections.  A  little  love  afTair,  if  ju- 
diciously managed,  will  be  forgiven  you,  but  a  doubt,  never ! 
Advancing  years  suppress  the  tendency  to  love-making 
and  increase  that  toward  doubt.  When  you  go  to  confes- 
sion act  on  this  principle.  You  will  have  a  letter  of  recom- 
mendation to  the  bishop  who  acts  as  factotum  to  the  Car- 
dinal Archbishop  of  Naples.  To  him  alone  you  will  confess 
your  escapade  in  France,  and  your  presence  near  Waterloo 
on  the  1 8th  of  June.  And  even  so,  shorten  the  matter,  make 
little  of  the  adventure ;  only  confess  it  so  that  nobody  may 
be  able  to  reproach  you  with  having  concealed  it — you  were 
so  young  when  it  happened.  The  second  hint  which  the 
count  sends  you  is  this:  If  a  brilliant  argument  occurs  to 
you,  or  a  crushing  reply  which  would  change  the  course  of 
a  conversation,  do  not  yield  to  the  temptation  to  shine ;  keep 
silence.  Clever  people  will  read  your  intelligence  in  your 
eyes.  It  will  be  time  enough  for  you  to  be  witty  when  you 
are  a  bishop." 

Fabrizio  began  life  at  Naples  with  a  quiet-looking  car- 

128 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

riage  and  four  faithful  Milanese  servants,  sent  him  by  his 
aunt.  After  a  year's  study,  no  one  called  him  a  clever  man ; 
he  rather  bore  the  reputation  of  being  an  aristocrat,  studi- 
ous, very  generous,  and  something  of  a  libertine. 

The  year,  which  had  been  a  fairly  pleasant  one  to  Fa- 
brizio,  had  been  terrible  for  the  duchess.  Two  or  three 
times  over  the  count  had  been  within  an  inch  of  ruin.  The 
prince,  who,  being  ill,  was  more  timorous  than  ever,  fancied 
that  by  dismissing  him  he  would  get  rid  of  the  odium  of 
the  executions  which  had  taken  place  before  the  count  be- 
came minister.  Rassi  was  the  favourite  with  whom  the 
sovereign  was  determined  not  to  part.  The  count's  peril 
made  the  duchess  cling  to  him  with  passionate  affection ;  she 
never  gave  a  thought  to  Fabrizio.  To  give  some  colour  to 
their  possible  retirement,  she  discovered  that  the  air  of 
Parma,  which  is,  indeed,  somewhat  damp,  like  that  of  the 
whole  of  Lombardy,  was  quite  unsuited  to  her  health.  At 
last,  after  intervals  of  disgrace,  during  which  the  Prime 
Minister  sometimes  spent  three  weeks  without  seeing  his 
master  privately,  Mosca  won  the  day.  He  had  General 
Fabio  Conti,  the  so-called  Liberal,  appointed  governor  of 
the  citadel  in  which  the  Liberals  sentenced  by  Rassi  were 
imprisoned.  "  If  Conti  shows  any  indulgence  to  his  pris- 
oners," said  Mosca  to  his  mistress,  "  he  will  be  disgraced  as 
a  Jacobin,  whose  political  views  have  made  him  forget  his 
duty  as  a  soldier.  If  he  proves  severe  and  merciless,  which, 
as  I  fancy,  is  the  direction  in  which  he  will  most  likely  lean, 
he  ceases  to  be  the  leader  of  his  own  party,  and  alienates  all 
the  families  whose  relations  are  imprisoned  in  the  citadel. 
The  poor  wretch  knows  how  to  put  on  an  air  of  the  deepest 
respect  whenever  he  appears  before  the  prince;  he  can 
change  his  clothes  four  times  a  day,  he  can  discuss  a 
question  of  etiquette,  but  his  head  is  not  strong  enough 
to  guide  him  along  the  difficult  path  which  is  the  only 
one  that  can  lead  him  to  safety.  And  anyhow,  I  am  on 
the  spot." 

The  day  after  General  Fabio  Conti's  appointment,  which 
closed  the  ministerial  crisis,  it  was  noised  abroad  that  an 
ultra-monarchical  newspaper  was  to  be  published  in  Parma. 

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The   Chartreuse  of  Parma 

**What  quarrels  this  newspaper  will  cause!"  said  the 
duchess. 

**  The  idea  of  publishing  this  newspaper  is  perhaps  the 
best  I  ever  had,"  replied  the  count  with  a  laugh.  "  Little  by 
little,  and  in  spite  of  myself,  I  shall  let  the  ultra-furies  take 
the  management  out  of  my  hands.  I  have  had  good  salaries 
attached  to  all  the  positions  connected  with  the  editorial 
staff — people  will  apply  to  be  appointed  from  all  quarters — 
the  matter  will  keep  us  busy  for  a  month  or  two,  and  so  my 
late  dangers  will  be  forgotten.  Those  serious  personages 
P and  D have  already  joined  the  staff." 

*'  But  the  whole  thing  will  be  too  revoltingly  absurd!  " 

*'  I  hope  so,  indeed,"  replied  the  count.  *'  The  prince 
shall  read  it  every  morning,  and  admire  the  doctrine  of  the 
newspaper  I  have  founded.  As  regards  the  details,  he  will 
approve  of  some  and  find  fault  with  others;  that  will  take  up 
two  of  his  working  hours.  The  newspaper  will  get  into 
difficulties,  but  by  the  time  the  serious  troubles  begin,  eight 
or  ten  months  hence,  it  will  be  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the 
ultras.  Then  that  party,  which  is  a  trouble  to  me,  will  have 
to  answer  for  it,  and  I  shall  make  complaints  against  the 
newspaper.  On  the  whole,  I  would  rather  have  a  hundred 
vile  absurdities  than  see  a  single  man  hanged.  Who  will 
remember  an  absurdity  two  years  after  its  publication  in  the 
official  newspaper  ?  Whereas,  if  I  have  to  hang  a  man,  his 
son  and  his  whole  family  vow  a  hatred  against  me  which 
will  last  my  whole  life,  and  may  shorten  it." 

The  duchess,  who  was  always  passionately  interested  in 
one  thing  or  another,  constantly  active  and  never  idle,  was 
cleverer  than  the  whole  court  of  Parma  together.  But  she 
had  not  the  patience  and  calmness  indispensable  to  success 
in  intrigue;  nevertheless,  she  contrived  to  follow  the  work- 
ing of  the  various  coteries  with  eager  interest,  and  was  even 
beginning  to  enjoy  some  personal  credit  with  the  prince. 
The  reigning  princess,  Clara  Paolina,  who  was  loaded  with 
honours,  but,  girt  about  with  the  most  superannuated  eti- 
quette, looked  on  herself  as  the  unhappiest  of  women.  The 
Duchess  Sanseverina  paid  court  to  her,  and  undertook  to 
convince  her  she  was  not  so  very  wretched  after  all.     It 

130 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

must  be  explained  that  the  prince  never  saw  his  wife  except 
at  dinner.  This  repast  lasted  about  twenty  minutes,  and 
sometimes  for  weeks  and  weeks  the  prince  never  opened  his 
lips  to  Clara  Paolina.  The  duchess  endeavoured  to  change 
all  this.  She  herself  amused  the  prince,  all  the  more  so 
because  she  had  managed  to  preserve  her  independence. 
Even  if  she  had  desired  it  she  could  not  have  contrived 
never  to  displease  any  of  the  fools  who  swarmed  at  court. 
It  was  this  utter  incapacity  on  her  part  that  caused  her  to 
be  detested  by  the  common  herd  of  courtiers,  all  of  them 
men  of  title,  most  of  them  enjoying  incomes  of  about  five 
thousand  francs  a  year.  She  realized  this  misfortune  during 
her  first  days  at  Parma,  and  turned  her  exclusive  attention 
to  pleasing  the  prince  and  his  consort,  who  completely 
swayed  the  hereditary  prince.  The  duchess  knew  how  to 
amuse  the  sovereign,  and  took  advantage  of  the  great  at- 
tention he  paid  to  her  lightest  word,  to  cast  hearty  ridicule 
on  the  courtiers  who  hated  her.  Since  the  follies  into  which 
Rassi  had  led  him — and  bloodstained  follies  cannot  be  re- 
paired— the  prince  was  occasionally  frightened,  and  very 
often  bored.  This  had  brought  him  to  a  condition  of  melan- 
choly envy.  He  realized  that  he  was  hardly  ever  amused, 
and  looked  glum  if  he  thought  other  people  were  amusing 
themselves.  The  sight  of  happiness  drove  him  wild. 
'*We  must  hide  our  love,"  said  the  duchess  to  her  lover, 
and  she  allowed  the  prince  to  surmise  that  her  affection 
for  the  count,  charming  fellow  though  he  was,  was  by  no 
means  so  strong  as  it  had  been. 

This  discovery  insured  his  Highness  a  whole  day  of  hap- 
piness. From  time  to  time  the  duchess  would  let  fall  a  word 
or  two  concerning  a  plan  she  had  for  taking  a  few  months' 
holiday  every  year,  and  spending  the  time  in  seeing  Italy, 
for  she  did  not  know  the  country  at  all.  She  would  pay 
visits  to  Naples,  Florence,  and  Rome.  Now,  nothing  in 
the  world  could  possibly  be  more  displeasing  to  the  prince 
than  any  idea  of  such  desertion.  This  was  one  of  his  ruling 
weaknesses — any  action  which  might  be  imputed  to  scorn 
of  his  native  city  stabbed  him  to  the  heart.  He  felt  he  had 
no  means  of  detaining  the  Duchess  Sanseverina,  and  the 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Duchess  Sanseverina  was  by  far  the  most  briUiant  woman 
at  Parma.  People  even  came  back  from  their  country 
houses  in  the  neighbourhood  to  be  present  at  her  Thursday 
parties,  a  wonderful  effort  for  these  idle  Italians.  These 
Thursday  gatherings  were  real  fetes,  at  which  the  duchess 
almost  always  produced  some  fresh  and  attractive  nov- 
elty. The  prince  was  dying  to  see  one  of  these  parties, 
but  how  was  he  to  set  about  it?  To  go  to  a  private 
house  was  a  thing  which  neither  he  nor  his  father  had 
ever  done. 

On  a  certain  Thursday  it  was  raining  and  bitterly  cold. 
All  through  the  evening  the  duke  had  been  listening  to  the 
carriages  rattling  across  the  pavement  of  the  square  in  front 
of  his  palace,  on  their  way  to  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina.  A 
fit  of  impatient  anger  seized  him.  Other  people  were  amus- 
ing themselves,  and  he,  their  sovereign  prince  and  abso- 
lute lord,  who  ought  to  amuse  himself  more  than  anybody 
in  the  world,  was  feeling  bored. 

He  rang  for  his  aide-de-camp.  It  took  a  little  time 
to  station  a  dozen  trusty  servants  in  the  street  leading  from 
the  palace  of  his  Highness  to  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina.  At 
last,  after  an  hour,  which  to  the  prince  seemed  like  a  cen- 
tury, and  during  which  he  had  been  tempted,  twenty  times 
over,  to  set  forth  boldly  without  any  precaution  whatsoever, 
and  take  his  chance  of  dagger  thrusts,  he  made  his  appear- 
ance in  the  Duchess  Sanseverina's  outer  drawing-room.  If 
a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  in  that  drawing-room,  it  could  not 
have  caused  such  great  surprise.  In  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  as  the  prince  passed  forward,  a  stupor  of  silence  fell 
upon  the  rooms  which  had  just  been  so  noisy  and  so  gay. 
Every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  prince,  and  stared  wider  and 
wider.  The  courtiers  seemed  put  out  of  countenance ;  the 
duchess  alone  did  not  appear  astonished.  When  the  power 
of  speech  returned,  the  great  anxiety  of  all  the  company 
present  was  to  decide  the  important  question  whether  the 
duchess  had  been  warned  of  the  impending  visit,  or  whether 
it  had  taken  her,  like  everybody  else,  by  surprise. 

The  prince  amused  himself,  and  my  readers  will  now  be 
able  to  realize  the  impulsive  nature  of  the  duchess,  and  the 

132 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

infinite  power  which  the  vague  ideas  of  possible  departure 
she  had  so  skilfully  dropped  had  enabled  her  to  attain. 

As  she  accompanied  the  departing  prince  to  the  door,  he 
addressed  her  in  the  most  flattering  strain.  A  strange  no- 
tion entered  her  head,  and  she  ventured  to  say,  quite  simply, 
and  as  though  it  were  the  most  ordinary  matter  in  the  world : 

"  If  your  Most  Serene  Highness  would  address  two  or 
three  of  the  gracious  expressions  you  have  showered  on 
me  to  the  princess,  you  would  ensure  my  happiness  far  more 
thoroughly  than  by  telling  me,  here,  that  I  am  pretty.  For 
I  would  not,  for  all  the  world,  that  the  princess  should  look 
askance  at  the  signal  mark  of  favour  with  which  your  High- 
ness has  just  honoured  me."  The  prince  looked  hard  at 
her,  and  responded  dryly : 

"  I  suppose  I  am  free  to  go  where  I  choose." 

The  duchess  coloured. 

"  My  only  desire,"  she  instantly  replied,  "  was  to  avoid 
giving  your  Highness  the  trouble  of  driving  out  for  noth- 
ing, for  this  Thursday  will  be  my  last.  I  am  going  to  spend 
a  few  days  at  Bologna  or  Florence." 

When  she  passed  back  into  the  drawing-rooms,  every 
one  thought  she  had  reached  the  very  height  of  court  fa- 
vour, and  she  had  just  dared  what  no  one  in  the  memory 
of  man  had  ever  dared  at  Parma.  She  made  a  sign  to  the 
count,  who  left  his  whist  table  and  followed  her  into  a  small 
room,  which,  though  lighted  up,  was  empty. 

"  What  you  have  done  is  very  bold,"  he  said.  "  I  should 
not  have  advised  you  to  do  it.  But  when  a  man's  heart  is 
really  engaged,"  he  added  with  a  laugh,  "  happiness  in- 
creases love,  and  if  you  start  to-morrow  morning,  I  follow 
you  to-morrow  night !  The  only  thing  which  will  delay  me 
is  this  troublesome  Finance  Ministry,  which  I  have  been 
fooHsh  enough  to  undertake.  But  in  four  hours  of  steady 
work  I  shall  be  able  to  give  over  a  g^eat  many  cash  boxes. 
Let  us  go  back,  dear  friend,  and  show  off  our  ministerial 
conceit  freely  and  unreservedly ;  it  may  be  the  last  perform- 
ance we  shall  give  in  this  city.  If  the  man  thinks  he  is 
being  set  at  defiance  he  is  capable  of  anything;  he  will  call 
that  making  an  example!     When  all   these  people   have 

133 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

departed  we  will  see  about  barricading  you  in  for  the  night. 
Perhaps  your  best  plan  would  be  to  start  at  once  for  your 
house  at  Sacca,  near  the  Po,  which  has  the  advantage  of 
being  only  half  an  hour's  journey  from  the  Austrian  states." 

It  was  an  exquisite  moment,  both  for  the  duchess's  love, 
and  for  her  vanity.  She  looked  at  the  count,  and  her  eyes 
were  moist  with  tears.  That  so  powerful  a  minister,  sur- 
rounded by  a  mob  of  courtiers  who  overwhelmed  him  with 
homage  equal  to  that  they  paid  to  the  prince  himself,  should 
be  ready  to  leave  everything  for  her,  and  that  so  cheer- 
fully ! 

When  she  went  back  to  her  rooms  she  was  giddy  with 
delight;  every  one  bowed  down  before  her. 

"  How  happiness  does  change  the  duchess ! "  said  the 
courtiers  on  every  side ;  "  one  would  hardly  know  her  again. 
At  last  that  Roman  soul,  which  as  a  rule  scorns  everything, 
actually  condescends  to  appreciate  the  exceeding  favour 
which  the  sovereign  has  just  shown  her." 

Toward  the  end  of  the  evening  the  count  came  to  her. 
"  I  must  tell  you  some  news."  Immediately  the  persons 
close  to  the  duchess  retired  to  a  distance. 

"  When  the  prince  returned  to  the  palace,"  the  count 
went  on,  "  he  sent  to  the  princess  to  announce  his  arrival. 
Imagine  her  astonishment !  *  I  have  come,'  he  said,  *  to  give 
you  an  account  of  a  really  very  pleasant  evening  which  I 
have  just  spent  with  the  Sanseverina.  It  is  she  who  begged 
me  to  give  you  details  of  the  manner  in  which  she  has  re- 
arranged that  smoky  old  palace.'  And  then  the  prince,  seat- 
ing himself,  began  to  describe  each  of  your  rooms.  He 
spent  more  than  five-and-twenty  minutes  with  his  wife,  who 
was  shedding  tears  of  joy.  In  spite  of  her  cleverness,  she 
could  not  find  a  word  to  carry  on  the  conversation  in  the 
light  tone  which  it  was  his  Highness's  pleasure  to  give  it." 

The  prince  was  not  a  bad  man,  whatever  the  Italian 
Liberals  might  say  of  him.  He  had,  it  is  true,  cast  a  certain 
number  of  them  into  prison,  but  this  was  out  of  fright,  and 
he  would  sometimes  reiterate,  as  though  to  console  himself 
for  certain  memories,  "  It  is  better  to  kill  the  devil  than  to 
let  the  devil  kill  us."    On  the  morrow  after  the  party  to 

134 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

which  we  have  just  referred  he  was  quite  joyous;  he  had 
done  two  good  actions — had  been  to  the  party,  and  had 
talked  to  his  wife.  At  dinner  he  spoke  to  her  again.  In 
a  word,  that  Thursday  party  at  the  Sanseverina  palace 
brought  about  a  domestic  revolution  which  resounded  all 
over  Parma.  The  Raversi  was  dismayed,  and  the  duchess 
tasted  a  twofold  joy.  She  had  been  able  to  serve  her  lover, 
and  she  had  found  him  more  devoted  than  ever. 

"  And  all  that  because  a  very  imprudent  notion  came  into 
my  head,"  said  she  to  the  count.  "  I  should  have  more  free- 
dom, no  doubt,  at  Rome  or  at  Naples,  but  could  I  find  any 
existence  so  fascinating  as  this  ?  No,  my  dear  count,  and,  in 
good  truth,  I  owe  my  happiness  to  you." 


CHAPTER  VII 

Any  history  of  the  four  years  that  now  elapsed  would 
have  to  be  filled  up  with  small  court  details,  as  insignificant 
as  those  we  have  just  related.  Every  spring  the  marchesa 
and  her  daughters  came  to  spend  two  months  either  at  the 
Palazzo  Sanseverina  or  at  the  duchess's  country  house  at 
Sacca,  on  the  banks  of  the  P6.  These  were  very  delightful 
visits,  during  which  there  was  much  talk  of  Fabrizio.  But 
the  count  would  never  allow  him  to  appear  at  Parma.  The 
duchess  and  the  Prime  Minister  found  it  necessary  to  re- 
pair an  occasional  blunder,  but  on  the  whole  Fabrizio  fol- 
lowed the  line  of  conduct  mapped  out  for  him  with  toler- 
able propriety.  He  was  the  great  nobleman  studying  the- 
ology, who  did  not  reckon  absolutely  upon  his  virtue  to 
insure  his  advancement.  At  Naples  he  had  taken  a  strong 
fancy  to  antiquarian  studies.  He  made  excavations,  and  this 
passion  almost  took  the  place  of  his  fondness  for  horses. 
He  sold  his  English  horses  so  as  to  continue  his  researches 
at  Miseno,  where  he  found  a  bust  of  the  youthful  Tiberius, 
which  soon  ranked  as  one  of  the  finest  known  relics  of  an- 
tiquity. The  discovery  of  this  bust  was  almost  the  keenest 
pleasure  Fabrizio  knew  while  he  was  at  Naples.  He  was 
too  proud-spirited  to  imitate  other  young  men,  and,  for  in- 
stance, to  play  the  lover's  part  with  a  certain  amount  of 
gravity.  He  had  mistresses,  certainly,  but  they  were  of  no 
real  consequence  to  him,  and  in  spite  of  his  youth  he  might 
have  been  said  not  to  know  what  love  was.  This  only  made 
the  women  love  him  more.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent 
him  from  behaving  with  the  most  perfect  coolness,  for  in 
his  case  one  young  and  pretty  woman  was  always  as  good 
as  any  other  young  and  pretty  woman ;  only  the  one  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  last  made  seemed  to  him  the  most  at- 

136 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

tractive.  During  the  last  year  of  his  sojourn,  one  of  the  most 
admired  beauties  in  Naples  had  committed  imprudences  for 
his  sake.  This  had  begun  by  amusing  him,  and  ended  by 
boring  him  to  death;  and  that  to  such  a  point  that  one  of 
the  joys  connected  with  his  departure  was  that  it  delivered 

him  from  the  pursuit  of  the  charming  Duchess  of .    It 

was  in  1821  that,  his  examination  having  been  passed  with 
tolerable  success,  the  director  of  his  studies  received  a 
decoration  and  a  pecuniary  acknowledgment,  and  he  him- 
self started,  at  last,  to  see  that  city  of  Parma  of  which  he 
had  often  dreamed.  He  was  a  monsignore,  and  had  four 
horses  to  his  carriage.  At  the  last  posting  station  before 
Parma  he  took  two  horses  instead,  and  when  he  reached  the 
town  he  stopped  before  the  Church  of  St.  John.  It  con- 
tained the  splendid  tomb  of  the  Archbishop  Ascanio  del 
Dongo,  his  great-great-uncle,  author  of  the  Latin  Gene- 
alogy. He  prayed  beside  the  tomb,  and  then  went  on  foot 
to  the  palace  of  the  duchess,  who  did  not  expect  him  till 
several  days  later.  Her  drawing-room  was  very  full.  Soon 
she  was  left  alone. 

"Well,  are  you  pleased  with  me?"  he  said,  and  threw 
himself  into  her  arms.  "  Thanks  to  you,  I  have  been  spend- 
ing four  fairly  happy  years  at  Naples,  instead  of  boring 
myself  at  Novara  with  the  mistress  the  police  authorized  me 
to  take." 

The  duchess  could  not  get  over  her  astonishment;  she 
would  not  have  known  him  if  she  had  met  him  in  the  street. 
She  thought  him,  what  he  really  was,  one  of  the  best-look- 
ing men  in  Italy.  It  was  his  expression,  especially,  that  was 
so  charming. 

When  she  had  sent  him  to  Naples  he  had  looked  a 
reckless  daredevil ;  the  riding-whip  which  never  left  his  hand 
seemed  an  inherent  portion  of  his  being.  Now,  when 
strangers  were  present,  his  manner  was  the  most  dignified 
and  guarded  imaginable,  and  when  they  were  alone  she 
recognised  all  the  fiery  ardour  of  his  early  youth.  Here 
was  a  diamond  which  had  lost  nothing  in  the  cutting. 
Hardly  an  hour  after  Fabrizio's  arrival  Count  Mosca  made 
his  appearance ;  he  had  come  a  little  too  soon.    The  young 

137 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

man  spoke  so  correctly  about  the  Parmesan  order  conferred 
on  his  tutor,  and  expressed  his  lively  gratitude  for  other 
benefits  to  which  he  dared  not  refer  in  so  open  a  manner 
with  such  perfect  propriety,  that  at  the  first  glance  the 
minister  judged  him  correctly.  "  This  nephew  of  yours," 
he  murmured  to  the  duchess,  "  is  born  to  adorn  all  the 
dignities  to  which  you  may  ultimately  desire  to  raise  him." 
Up  to  this  point  all  had  gone  marvellously  well.  But  when 
the  minister,  who  had  been  very  much  pleased  with  Fabrizio, 
and  until  then  had  given  his  whole  attention  to  his  behaviour 
and  gestures,  looked  at  the  duchess,  the  expression  in  her 
eyes  struck  him  as  strange. 

"  This  young  man  makes  an  unusual  impression  here," 
said  he  to  himself.  The  thought  was  a  bitter  one.  The 
count  had  passed  his  fiftieth  year — a  cruel  word,  the  full 
meaning  of  which  can  only  be  realized,  perhaps,  by  a  man 
who  is  desperately  in  love.  He  was  exceedingly  kind- 
hearted,  very  worthy  to  be  loved,  except  for  his  official 
severity.  But  in  his  eyes  that  cruel  phrase,  my  fiftieth  year, 
cast  a  black  cloud  over  all  his  life,  and  might  even  have 
driven  him  to  be  cruel  on  his  own  account.  During  the  five 
years  which  had  elapsed  since  he  had  persuaded  the  duchess 
to  settle  in  Parma,  she  had  often  roused  his  jealousy,  more 
especially  in  the  earlier  days.  But  she  had  never  given 
him  any  cause  for  real  complaint.  He  even  believed,  and 
he  was  right,  that  it  was  with  the  object  of  tightening  her 
hold  upon  his  heart  that  the  duchess  had  bestowed  apparent 
favour  on  certain  of  the  young  beaux  about  the  court.  He 
was  sure,  for  instance,  that  she  had  refused  the  advances  of 
the  prince,  who,  indeed,  had  dropped  an  instructive  remark 
on  the  occasion. 

"  But,"  the  duchess  had  objected  laughingly,  "  if  I  ac- 
cepted your  Highness's  attentions,  how  should  I  ever  dare 
to  face  the  count  again  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  almost  as  much  put  out  of  countenance  as 
you.  The  poor  dear  count — my  friend !  But  that  is  a  dif- 
ficulty very  easily  surmounted,  and  which  I  have  already 
considered.  The  count  should  be  shut  up  in  the  citadel  for 
the  rest  of  his  life ! " 

138 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

At  the  moment  of  Fabrizio's  arrival,  the  duchess  was  so 
transported  with  deHght  that  she  gave  no  thought  at  all  to 
the  ideas  her  looks  might  stir  in  the  count's  brain.  Their 
effect  was  deep,  and  his  consequent  suspicion  ineradicable. 

Two  hours  after  his  arrival  Fabrizio  was  received  by  the 
prince.  The  duchess,  foreseeing  the  good  effect  of  this 
impromptu  audience  on  the  public  mind,  had  been  soliciting 
it  for  two  months  beforehand.  This  favour  placed  Fabrizio, 
from  the  very  outset,  above  the  heads  of  all  his  equals.  The 
pretext  had  been  that  he  was  only  passing  through  Parma 
on  his  way  to  see  his  mother  in  Piedmont.  Just  at  the 
very  moment  when  a  charming  little  note  from  the  duchess 
brought  the  prince  the  information  that  Fabrizio  was  wait- 
ing on  his  pleasure,  his  Highness  was  feeling  bored. 
"  Now,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I  shall  behold  a  very  silly 
little  saint;  he  will  be  either  empty-headed  or  sly."  The 
commandant  of  the  fortress  had  already  reported  the  pre- 
liminary visit  to  the  archbishop  uncle's  tomb.  The  prince 
saw  a  tall  young  man  enter  his  presence ;  but  for  his  violet 
stockings  he  would  have  taken  him  for  a  young  officer. 

This  little  surprise  drove  away  his  boredom.  "  Here," 
thought  he  to  himself,  "  is  a  fine-looking  fellow,  for  whom  I 
shall  be  asked  God  knows  what  favours — all  and  any  that 
are  at  my  disposal.  He  has  just  arrived ;  he  must  feel  some 
emotion.  I'll  try  a  little  Jacobinism,  and  we  shall  see  what 
kind  of  answers  he'll  give." 

After  the  first  few  gracious  words  spoken  by  the  prince, 
"  Well,  monsignore,"  said  he  to  Fabrizio,  "  are  the  in- 
habitants of  Naples  happy?    Is  the  King  beloved?  " 

"  Most  Serene  Highness,"  replied  Fabrizio,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  "  as  I  passed  along  the  streets  I  used 
to  admire  the  excellent  demeanour  of  the  soldiers  of  his 
Majesty's  various  regiments.  All  good  society  is  respect- 
ful, as  it  should  be,  to  its  masters ;  but  I  confess  I  have  never 
in  my  life  permitted  people  of  the  lower  class  to  speak  to 
me  of  anything  but  the  labour  for  which  I  pay  them." 

"  The  deuce !  "  thought  the  prince ;  "  what  a  priestling ! 
Here's  a  well-trained  bird !  The  Sanseverina's  own  wit !  " 
Thoroughly  piqued,  the  prince  used  all  his  skill  to  draw 

139 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Fabrizio  into  talk  upon  this  risky  subject.  The  young  man, 
stimulated  by  the  danger  of  his  position,  was  lucky  enough 
to  find  admirable  answers.  "  To  put  forward  one's  love  for 
one's  king,"  said  he,  "  is  almost  an  insolence.  What  we 
owe  him  is  blind  obedience."  The  sight  of  so  much  pru- 
dence almost  made  the  prince  angry.  "  This  young  man 
from  Naples  seems  to  be  a  clever  fellow,  and  I  don't  like 
the  breed.  It's  all  very  well  for  a  clever  man  to  behave 
according  to  the  best  principles,  and  even  to  believe  in 
them  honestly — somehow  or  other  he  is  always  sure  to  be 
first  cousin  to  Voltaire  and  Rousseau  I " 

The  prince  felt  there  was  a  sort  of  defiance  of  himself  in 
the  correct  manners  and  unassailable  answers  of  this  youth 
just  leaving  college ;  things  were  by  no  means  turning  out 
as  he  had  foreseen.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  changed 
his  tone  to  one  of  simple  good-nature,  and  going  back,  in  a 
few  words,  to  the  great  principles  of  society  and  govern- 
ment, he  reeled  oflf,  applying  them  to  the  occasion,  certain 
sentences  from  Fenelon  which  had  been  taught  him  in  his 
childhood  for  use  at  public  audiences. 

"  These  principles  surprise  you,  young  man,"  said  he 
to  Fabrizio  (he  had  addressed  him  as  monsignore  at  the 
beginning  of  the  audience,  and  proposed  to  repeat  the  title 
when  he  dismissed  him,  but  during  the  course  of  the  con- 
versation he  considered  it  more  skilful  and  more  favourable 
to  the  development  of  the  feelings  to  use  a  more  intimate  and 
friendly  term),  "  these  principles,  young  man,  surprise  you. 
I  confess  they  have  no  close  resemblance  with  the  slices  of 
absolutism  (he  used  the  very  words)  which  are  served  up 
every  day  in  my  official  newspaper.  But,  good  God!  why 
do  I  quote  that  to  you  ?  You  know  nothing  of  the  writers 
in  that  paper !  " 

"  I  beg  your  Most  Serene  Highness's  pardon.  Not  only 
do  I  read  the  Parma  newspaper,  which  seems  to  me  fairly 
well  written,  but  I  share  its  opinion,  that  everything  which 
has  been  done  since  the  death  of  Louis  XIV  in  1715,  is  at 
once  a  folly  and  a  crime.  Man's  foremost  interest  is  his 
own  salvation — there  can  not  be  two  opinions  on  that  score 
— and  that  bliss  is  to  last  for  all  eternity.    The  words  liberty, 

140 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

justice,  happiness  of  the  greatest  number,  are  infamous  and 
criminal;  they  give  men's  minds  a  habit  of  discussion  and 
disbeHef.  A  Chamber  of  Deputies  mistrusts  what  those 
people  call  the  ministry.  Once  that  fatal  habit  of  distrust 
is  contracted,  human  weakness  applies  it  to  everything. 
Man  ends  by  distrusting  the  Bible,  the  commands  of  the 
Church,  tradition,  etc.,  and  thenceforward  he  is  lost.  Even 
supposing — and  it  is  horribly  false  and  criminal  to  say  it — 
this  distrust  of  the  authority  of  the  princes  set  up  by  God 
could  insure  happiness  during  the  twenty  or  thirty  years  of 
life  on  which  each  of  us  may  reckon,  what  is  half  a  century, 
or  even  a  whole  century,  compared  with  an  eternity  of  tor- 
ment?" 

The  manner  in  which  Fabrizio  spoke  showed  that  he  was 
endeavouring  to  arrange  his  ideas  so  that  his  auditor  might 
grasp  them  as  easily  as  possible.  He  was  evidently  not 
repeating  a  lesson  by  rote. 

Soon  the  prince  ceased  to  care  about  coping  with  the 
young  man,  whose  grave  and  simple  manner  made  him  feel 
uncomfortable. 

"  Farewell,  monsignore,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  I  see  that 
the  education  given  in  the  Ecclesiastical  Academy  at  Naples 
is  an  admirable  one,  and  it  is  quite  natural  that  when  these 
excellent  teachings  are  sown  in  so  distinguished  an  intelli- 
gence, brilliant  results  should  be  obtained.  Farewell ! " 
And  he  turned  his  back  on  him. 

"  That  fool  is  not  pleased  with  me,"  said  Fabrizio  to 
himself. 

"  Now,"  thought  the  prince,  as  soon  as  he  was  alone, 
"  it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  that  handsome  young  fel- 
low is  susceptible  of  any  passion  for  anything ;  in  that  case 
he  will  be  perfect.  Could  he  possibly  have  repeated  his 
aunt's  lessons  more  cleverly?  I  could  have  fancied  I  heard 
her  speaking!  If  there  was  a  revolution  here  it  would  be 
she  who  would  edit  the  Moniteur,  just  as  the  San  Felice  did 
it  in  old  days  at  Naples.  But,  in  spite  of  her  five-and-twenty 
years  and  her  beauty,  the  San  Felice  was  hanged  for  good 
and  all — a  warning  to  ladies  who  are  too  clever !  " 

When  the  prince  took  Fabrizio  for  his  aunt's  pupil  he 

141 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

made  a  mistake.  Clever  folk  born  on  the  throne,  or  close 
behind  it,  soon  lose  all  their  delicacy  of  touch.  They  pro- 
scribe all  freedom  of  conversation  around  them,  taking  it  for 
coarseness ;  they  will  not  look  at  anything  but  masks,  and  yet 
claim  to  be  judges  of  complexion;  and  the  comical  thing 
is  that  they  believe  themselves  to  be  full  of  tact.  In  this 
particular  case,  for  instance,  Fabrizio  did  believe  very  nearly 
everything  we  have  heard  him  say.  It  is  quite  true  that  he 
did  not  bestow  a  thought  on  those  great  principles  more 
than  twice  in  a  month.  He  had  lively  tastes,  he  had  intelli- 
gence, but  he  also  had  faith. 

The  taste  for  liberty,  the  fashion  for  and  worship  of  the 
happiness  of  the  greatest  number,  which  is  one  of  the 
manias  of  the  nineteenth  century,  was  in  his  eyes  no  more 
than  a  heresy,  which  would  pass  away  like  others,  after  slay- 
ing many  souls,  just  as  the  plague,  while  it  rages  in  any 
particular  region,  kills  many  bodies.  And  in  spite  of  all 
this,  Fabrizio  delighted  in  reading  the  French  newspapers, 
and  even  committed  imprudences  for  the  sake  of  procuring 
them. 

When  Fabrizio  returned,  rather  in  a  flutter,  from  his 
audience  at  the  palace,  and  began  to  relate  the  prince's  vari- 
ous attacks  upon  him  to  his  aunt,  "  You  must  call  at  once," 
she  said,  "  on  Father  Landriani,  our  excellent  archbishop. 
Go  to  his  house  on  foot,  slip  quietly  up  the  stairs,  don't 
make  much  stir  in  the  antechamber,  and  if  you  have  to  wait, 
all  the  better — a  thousand  times  better.  Be  apostolic,  in  a 
word." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Fabrizio ;  "  the  man  is  a  Tar- 
tuflfe." 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world ;  he  is  the  very  embodiment 
of  virtue." 

"  Even  after  what  he  did  at  the  time  of  Count  Palanza's 
execution  ? "  returned  Fabrizio  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  even  after  what  he  did  then.  Our 
archbishop's  father  was  a  clerk  in  the  Ministry  of  Finance, 
quite  a  humble,  middle-class  person;  that  explains  every- 
thing. Monsignore  Landriani  is  a  man  of  intelligence, 
lively,  far-reaching,  and  profound.    He  is  sincere,  he  loves 

142 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

virtue.  I  am  convinced  that  if  the  Emperor  Decius  were 
to  come  back  to  earth  he  would  cheerfully  endure  martyr- 
dom, like  Polyeuctus,  in  the  opera  that  was  performed  here 
last  week.  There  you  have  the  fair  side  of  the  medal ;  here  is 
the  reverse :  The  moment  he  enters  the  sovereign's  presence, 
or  even  the  presence  of  his  Prime  Minister,  he  is  dazzled  by 
so  much  grandeur,  he  flushes,  grows  confused,  and  it  be- 
comes physically  impossible  to  him  to  say  *  No.'  This  ac- 
counts for  the  things  he  has  done  and  which  have  earned  him 
his  cruel  reputation  all  over  Italy.  But  what  is  not  generally 
known  is  that  when  public  opinion  opened  his  eyes  as  to 
Count  Palanza's  trial,  he  voluntarily  imposed  on  himself  the 
penance  of  living  on  bread  and  water  for  thirteen  weeks — as 
many  weeks  as  there  are  letters  in  the  name  Davide  Palanza. 
There  is  at  this  court  an  exceedingly  clever  rascal  of  the 
name  of  Rassi,  the  prince's  chief  justice,  or  head  of  the 
Law  Department,  who,  at  the  period  of  Count  Palanza's 
death,  completely  bewitched  Father  Landriani.  While  he 
was  doing  his  thirteen  weeks'  penance.  Count  Mosca,  out 
of  pity,  and  a  little  out  of  spite,  used  to  invite  him  to  dinner 
once  or  twice  a  week.  To  please  his  host  the  good  arch- 
bishop ate  his  dinner  like  anybody  else — he  would  have 
thought  it  rebellion  and  Jacobinism  to  parade  his  repentance 
of  an  action  approved  by  his  sovereign.  But  it  was  quite 
well  known  that  for  every  dinner  which  his  duty  as  a  faithful 
subject  had  forced  him  to  eat  like  everybody  else,  he  en- 
dured a  self-imposed  penance  of  two  days  on  bread  and 
water.  Monsignore  Landriana,  though  his  mind  is  superior 
and  his  knowledge  first-class,  has  one  weakness — he  likes 
to  be  loved.  You  must  look  at  him  tenderly,  therefore,  and 
at  your  third  visit  you  must  be  frankly  fond  of  him.  This, 
together  with  your  birth,  will  make  him  adore  you  at  once. 
Show  no  surprise  if  he  accompanies  you  back  to  the  head 
of  the  stairs ;  look  as  if  you  were  accustomed  to  his  ways — 
he  is  a  man  who  was  born  on  his  knees  before  the  nobility. 
For  the  rest,  be  simple,  apostolic — no  wit,  no  brilliancy,  no 
swift  repartee.  If  you  do  not  startle  him  he  will  delight 
in  your  company.  Remember,  it  is  on  his  own  initiative 
that  he  must  appoint  you  his  grand  vicar;  the  count  and 

143 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

I  will  appear  surprised,  and  even  vexed,  at  your  too 
rapid  promotion.  That  is  essential  on  account  of  the 
sovereign." 

Fabrizio  hurried  to  the  archiepiscopal  palace. 

By  remarkable  good  luck  the  good  prelate's  servant, 
who  was  a  trifle  deaf,  did  not  catch  the  name  of  Del  Dongo. 
He  announced  a  young  priest  called  Fabrizio.  The  arch- 
bishop was  engaged  with  a  priest  of  not  very  exemplary 
morals,  whom  he  had  summoned  in  order  to  reprimand  him. 
He  was  in  the  act  of  administering  a  reproof — a  very  pain- 
ful effort  to  him,  and  did  not  care  to  carry  the  trouble  about 
with  him  any  longer.  He  therefore  kept  the  great-nephew 
of  the  famous  Archbishop  Ascanio  del  Dongo  waiting  for 
three  quarters  of  an  hour. 

How  shall  I  reproduce  his  excuses  and  his  despair  when, 
having  conducted  the  parish  priest  as  far  as  the  outermost 
antechamber,  he  inquired,  as  he  passed  back  toward  his 
apartment,  what  he  could  do  for  the  young  man  who  stood 
waiting,  caught  sight  of  his  violet  stockings,  and  heard  the 
name  Fabrizio  del  Dongo? 

The  matter  struck  our  hero  in  so  comic  a  light  that  even 
on  this  first  visit  he  ventured,  in  a  passion  of  tenderness, 
to  kiss  the  saintly  prelate's  hand.  It  was  worth  something 
to  hear  the  archbishop  reiterating  in  his  despair  "  That  a  Del 
Dongo  should  have  waited  in  my  antechamber ! "  He  felt 
obliged,  in  his  own  excuse,  to  relate  the  whole  story  of  the 
parish  priest,  his  offences,  his  replies,  and  so  forth. 

"  Can  that  really  be  the  man,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself, 
as  he  returned  to  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina,  "  who  hurried 
on  the  execution  of  that  poor  Count  Palanza  ?  " 

"  What  does  your  Excellency  think  ? "  said  Count 
Mosca  laughingly,  as  he  entered  the  duchess's  room.  (The 
count  would  not  allow  Fabrizio  to  call  him  "  your  Excel- 
lency.") 

"  I  am  utterly  amazed !  I  know  nothing  about  human 
nature.  I  would  have  wagered,  if  I  had  not  known  his  name, 
that  this  man  could  not  bear  to  see  a  chicken  bleed." 

"  And  you  would  have  won,"  replied  the  count.  "  But 
when  he  is  in  the  prince's  presence,  or  even  in  mine,  he 

144 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

can  not  say  *  No.'  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  must  have  my  yel- 
low ribbon  across  my  coat  if  I  am  to  produce  my  full 
effect  upon  him ;  in  morning  dress  he  would  contradict  me, 
and  I  always  put  on  my  uniform  before  I  receive  him.  It 
is  no  business  of  ours  to  destroy  the  prestige  of  power — the 
French  newspapers  are  demolishing  it  quite  fast  enough. 
The  respectful  mania  will  hardly  last  out  our  time,  and  you, 
nephew,  you'll  outlive  respect — you'll  be  a  good-natured 
man." 

Fabrizio  delighted  in  the  count's  society.  He  was  the 
first  superior  man  who  had  condescended  to  converse  with 
him  seriously,  and,  further,  they  had  a  taste  in  common — 
that  for  antiques  and  excavations.  The  count,  on  his  side, 
was  flattered  by  the  extreme  deference  with  which  the 
young  man  listened  to  him,  but  there  was  one  capital  ob- 
jection— Fabrizio  occupied  rooms  in  the  Palazzo  Sansever- 
ina ;  he  spent  his  Ufe  with  the  duchess,  and  let  it  appear,  in 
all  innocence,  that  this  intimacy  constituted  his  great  hap- 
piness, and  Fabrizio's  eyes  and  skin  were  distressingly 
brilliant. 

For  a  long  time  Ranuzio-Ernest  IV,  who  seldom  came 
across  an  unaccommodating  fair,  had  been  nettled  by  the 
fact  that  the  duchess,  whose  virtue  was  well  known  at 
court,  had  made  no  exception  in  his  favour.  As  we  have 
seen,  Fabrizio's  intelligence  and  presence  of  mind  had  dis- 
pleased him  from  the  very  outset ;  he  looked  askance  at  the 
extreme  affection,  somewhat  imprudently  displayed,  be- 
tween aunt  and  nephew.  He  listened  with  excessive  atten- 
tion to  the  comments  of  his  courtiers,  which  were  endless. 
The  young  man's  arrival,  and  the  extraordinary  audience 
granted  him,  were  the  talk  and  astonishment  of  the  court 
for  a  good  month.    Whereupon  the  prince  had  an  idea. 

In  his  guard  there  was  a  private  soldier  who  could  carry 
his  wine  in  the  most  admirable  manner.  This  man  spent 
his  life  in  taverns,  and  reported  the  general  spirit  of  the  mili- 
tary direct  to  the  sovereign.  Carlone  lacked  education, 
otherwise  he  would  long  ago  have  been  promoted.  His 
orders  were  to  be  in  the  palace  every  day  when  the  g^eat 
clock  struck  noon. 

145 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  prince  himself  went  a  little  before  noon  to  arrange 
something  about  the  sun-blind  in  a  room  on  the  mezzanine 
connected  with  the  apartment  in  which  his  Highness 
dressed.  He  returned  to  this  room  a  little  after  noon  had 
struck,  and  found  the  soldier  there.  The  prince  had  a  sheet 
of  paper  and  an  ink-bottle  in  his  pocket.  He  dictated  the 
following  note  to  the  soldier : 

"  Your  Excellency  is  a  very  clever  man,  no  doubt,  and 
it  is  thanks  to  your  deep  wisdom  that  we  see  this  state  so 
well  governed.  But,  my  dear  count,  such  great  successes 
can  not  be  obtained  without  rousing  a  little  envy,  and  I 
greatly  fear  there  may  be  some  laughter  at  your  expense, 
if  your  sagacity  does  not  guess  that  a  certain  handsome 
young  man  has  had  the  good  fortune  to  inspire,  in  spite  of 
himself,  it  may  be,  a  most  extraordinary  passion.  This  for- 
tunate mortal  is,  we  are  told,  only  twenty-three  years  of  age, 
and,  dear  count,  what  complicates  the  question  is  that  you 
and  I  are  much  more  than  double  that.  In  the  evening,  and 
at  a  certain  distance,  the  count  is  delightful,  sprightly,  a  man 
of  wit,  as  charming  as  he  can  be ;  but  in  the  morning,  and  in 
close  intimacy,  the  newcomer  may,  if  we  look  at  matters 
closely,  prove  more  attractive.  Now,  we  women  think  a 
great  deal  of  that  freshness  of  youth,  especially  when  we 
ourselves  are  past  thirty.  Is  there  not  talk  already  of  set- 
tling the  charming  young  man  at  our  court  in  some  great 
position?  and  who  may  the  person  be  who  most  constantly 
mentions  the  subject  to  your  Excellency?  " 

The  prince  took  the  letter  and  gave  the  soldier  two 
crowns. 

"  These  over  and  above  your  pay,"  he  said,  with  a 
gloomy  look.  "  You  will  keep  absolute  silence  to  every- 
body, or  you  will  go  to  the  dampest  of  the  lower  dungeons 
in  the  citadel." 

In  his  writing-table  the  prince  kept  a  collection  of  en- 
velopes addressed  to  the  majority  of  the  people  about  his 
court  by  the  hand  of  this  same  soldier,  who  was  supposed 
not  to  know  how  to  write,  and  never  did  write  even  his 

146 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

police  Feports.  The  prince  chose  out  the  envelope  he 
wanted. 

A  few  hours  later  Count  Mosca  received  a  letter  through 
the  post.  The  probable  hour  of  its  arrival  had  been  care- 
fully calculated,  and  at  the  moment  when  the  postman,  who 
had  been  seen  to  go  in  with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  emerged 
from  the  minister's  palace,  Mosca  was  summoned  to  the 
presence  of  his  Highness.  Never  had  the  favourite  appeared 
wrapped  in  so  black  a  melancholy.  To  enjoy  it  more  thor- 
oughly the  prince  called  out  as  he  entered :  "  I  want  to  divert 
myself  by  gossiping  with  my  friend,  not  to  work  with  my 
minister,  I  am  enjoying  the  most  frightful  headache  to- 
night, and  I  feel  depressed  into  the  bargain." 

Must  I  describe  the  abominable  temper  that  raged  in  the 
breast  of  Count  Mosca  della  Rovere,  Prime  Minister  of 
Parma,  when  he  was  at  last  permitted  to  take  leave  of  his 
august  master?  Ranuzio-Ernest  IV  possessed  a  finished 
skill  in  the  art  of  torturing  the  human  heart,  and  I  should 
not  do  him  much  injustice  if  I  were  to  compare  him  here 
with  a  tiger  who  delights  in  playing  with  his  victim. 

The  count  had  himself  driven  home  at  a  gallop,  called 
out  that  not  a  soul  was  to  be  admitted,  sent  word  to  the 
auditor  in  waiting  that  he  was  dismissed  (the  very  thought 
of  a  human  being  within  hearing  distance  of  his  voice  was 
odious  to  him),  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  great  picture 
gallery.  There,  at  last,  he  could  give  rein  to  all  his  fury,  and 
there  he  spent  his  evening,  walking  to  and  fro  in  the  dark, 
like  a  man  beside  himself.  He  tried  to  silence  his  heart,  so 
as  to  concentrate  all  the  strength  of  his  attention  on  the 
course  he  should  pursue.  Plunged  in  an  anguish  which 
would  have  stirred  the  pity  of  his  bitterest  enemy,  he  mused : 
"  The  man  I  hate  lives  with  the  duchess,  spends  every 
moment  of  his  time  with  her.  Must  I  try  to  make  one  of 
her  women  speak?  Nothing  could  be  more  dangerous — 
she  is  so  kind,  she  pays  them  well,  they  adore  her  (and 
who,  great  God!  does  not  adore  her?).  Here  lies  the  ques- 
tion," he  began  again  passionately.  "  Must  I  let  her  guess 
the  jealousy  which  devours  me,  or  must  I  hide  it? 

"  If  I  hold  my  peace,  no  a.+tempt  at  concealment  will 

147 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

be  made.  I  know  Gina ;  she  is  a  woman  who  always  follows 
her  first  impulse ;  her  behaviour  is  unforeseen  even  by  her- 
self; if  she  tries  to  trace  out  a  plan  beforehand,  she  grows 
confused;  at  the  moment  of  action  some  new  idea  always 
occurs  to  her,  which  she  follows  delightedly  as  being  the 
best  in  the  world,  and  which,  ruins  everything. 

"  If  I  say  nothing  of  my  martyrdom,  then  nothing 
is  hidden  from  me,  and  I  see  everything  which  may 
happen. 

"  Yes,  but  if  I  speak,  I  call  other  circumstances  into  ex- 
istence; I  make  them  reflect,  I  prevent  many  of  the  hor- 
rible things  which  may  happen.  .  .  .  Perhaps  he  will  be 
sent  away  "  (the  count  drew  a  breath).  "  Then  I  shall  almost 
have  won  my  cause.  Even  if  there  were  a  little  temper  at 
first,  I  could  calm  that  down.  .  .  .  And  if  there  were  tem- 
per, what  could  be  more  natural?  .  .  .  She  has  loved  him 
like  a  son  for  the  last  fifteen  years.  There  lies  all  my  hope — 
like  a  son!  .  .  .  But  she  has  not  seen  him  since  he  ran  away 
to  Waterloo ;  but  when  he  came  back  from  Naples,  to  her, 
especially,  he  was  a  different  man !  A  different  man! "  he 
reiterated  furiously,  "  and  a  charming  man,  too !  Above 
all,  he  has  that  tender  look  and  smiling  eye  which  give  so 
much  promise  of  happiness.  And  the  duchess  can  not  be 
accustomed  to  seeing  such  eyes  at  our  court.  Their  place 
is  taken  here  by  glances  that  are  either  dreary  or  sardonic. 
I  myself,  worried  by  business,  ruling  by  sheer  influence 
only,  over  a  man  who  would  fain  turn  me  into  ridicule — 
what  eyes  must  I  often  have !  Ah,  whatever  care  I  take,  it 
is  my  eyes,  after  all,  that  must  have  grown  old.  Is  not  my 
very  laughter  always  close  on  irony?  ...  I  will  go  further 
— for  here  I  must  be  sincere — does  not  my  merriment  betray 
its  close  association  with  absolute  power  and  .  .  .  wicked- 
ness ?  Do  not  I  say  to  myself,  sometimes — especially  when 
I  am  exasperated — *  I  can  do  what  I  choose  *  ?  And  I  even 
add  a  piece  of  foolishness — *  I  must  be  happier  than  others, 
because  in  three  matters  out  of  four  I  possess  what  others 
have  not,  sovereign  power.  .  .  .  Well,  then,  let  me  be  just. 
This  habit  of  thought  must  spoil  my  smile — must  give  me 
a  look  of  satisfied  selfishness.  .  .  .  And  how  charming  is 

148 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

that  smile  of  his!    It  breathes  the  easy  happiness  of  early 
youth,  and  sheds  that  happiness  around  him." 

Unfortunately  for  the  count,  the  weather  that  evening 
was  hot,  oppressive,  close  on  a  thunder-storm — the  sort  of 
weather,  in  a  word,  which  in  those  countries  inclines  men  to 
extreme  resolves.  How  can  I  reproduce  all  the  arguments, 
all  the  views  of  what  had  happened  to  him,  which  for  three 
mortal  hours  tortured  the  passionate-hearted  man?  At  last 
prudent  counsels  prevailed,  solely  as  a  result  of  this  reflec- 
tion :  "  In  all  probability  I  am  out  of  my  mind.  When  I 
think  I  am  arguing  I  am  not  arguing  at  all.  I  am  only 
turning  about  in  search  of  a  less  cruel  position,  and  I  may 
pass  by  some  decisive  reason  without  perceiving  it.  As 
the  excess  of  my  suffering  blinds  me,  let  me  follow  that  rule 
approved  by  all  wise  men,  which  is  called  prudence. 

"  Besides,  once  I  have  spoken  the  fatal  word  jealousy, 
my  line  is  marked  out  for  good  and  all.  If,  on  the  contrary, 
I  say  nothing  to-day,  I  can  always  speak  to-morrow,  and 
everything  remains  in  my  hands."  The  excitement  had 
been  too  violent ;  the  count  would  have  lost  his  reason  if  it 
had  lasted.  He  had  a  moment's  relief — his  attention  had 
just  fixed  itself  on  the  anonymous  letter.  Whence  could  it 
come?  Hereupon  supervened  a  search  for  names,  and  a 
verdict  on  each  as  it  occurred,  which  created  a  diversion. 
At  last  the  count  recollected  the  spiteful  flash  in  the  sover- 
eign's eye  when  he  had  said,  toward  the  close  of  the  audience : 
"  Yes,  dear  friend,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  pleasures 
and  cares  of  the  most  fortunate  ambition,  and  even  of  un- 
limited power,  are  nothing  compared  with  the  inner  happi- 
ness to  be  found  in  the  relations  of  a  tender  and  loving  inter- 
course. Myself,  I  am  a  man  before  I  am  a  prince,  and  when 
I  am  so  happy  as  to  love,  it  is  the  man,  and  not  the  prince, 
that  my  mistress  knows." 

The  count  compared  that  twinkle  of  spiteful  pleasure 
with  the  words  in  the  letter,  "  It  is  thanks  to  your  deep  wsdom 
that  we  see  this  state  so  well  governed" 

"  The  prince  wrote  that  sentence !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It 
is  too  gratuitously  imprudent  for  any  courtier.  The  letter 
comes  from  his  Highness." 

149 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

That  problem  once  solved,  the  flush  of  satisfaction 
caused  by  the  pleasure  of  guessing  it  soon  faded  before 
the  cruel  picture  of  Fabrizio's  charms,  which  once  more 
rose  up  before  him.  It  was  as  though  a  huge  weight  had 
fallen  back  upon  the  heart  of  the  unhappy  man.  "  What 
matters  it  who  wrote  the  anonymous  letter  ?  "  he  cried  in  his 
fury.  "  Does  it  make  the  fact  it  reveals  to  me  any  less  true  ? 
This  whim  may  change  my  whole  life,"  he  added,  as  though 
to  excuse  his  own  excitement.  "  At  any  moment,  if  she 
cares  for  him  in  a  certain  way,  she  may  start  oflf  with  him 
to  Belgirate,  to  Switzerland,  or  to  any  other  corner  of  the 
world.  She  is  rich,  and,  besides,  if  she  had  only  a  few  louis 
a  year  to  live  on,  what  would  that  matter  to  her?  Did  she 
not  tell  me,  only  a  week  ago,  that  she  was  tired  of  her  palace, 
well  arranged  and  magnificent  as  it  is?  That  youthful  na- 
ture must  have  novelty!  And  how  simply  this  new  happi- 
ness offers  itself  to  her !  She  will  be  swept  away  before  she 
has  thought  of  the  danger — before  she  has  thought  of  pity- 
ing me !  and  yet  I  am  so  wretched !  "  he  exclaimed,  bursting 
into  tears. 

He  had  sworn  he  would  not  go  to  see  the  duchess  that 
evening,  but  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation.  Never  had 
his  eyes  so  thirsted  for  the  sight  of  her.  About  midnight 
he  entered  her  rooms.  He  found  her  alone  with  her  nephew. 
At  ten  o'clock  she  had  dismissed  all  her  company  and  closed 
her  doors. 

At  the  sight  of  the  tender  intimacy  between  the  two,  and 
the  unaffected  delight  of  the  duchess,  a  frightful  difficulty, 
and  an  unexpected  one,  rose  up  before  the  count's  eyes ;  he 
had  not  thought  of  it  during  his  lengthy  ponderings  in  the 
picture  gallery.    How  was  he  to  conceal  his  jealousy? 

Not  knowing  what  pretext  to  adopt,  he  pretended  he 
had  found  the  prince  exceedingly  prejudiced  against  him 
that  evening,  contradicting  everything  he  said,  and  so  forth. 
He  had  the  pain  of  perceiving  that  the  duchess  hardly  listened 
to  him,  and  paid  no  attention  to  circumstances  which  only 
two  nights  before  would  have  led  her  into  a  whole  train  of 
argument.  The  count  looked  at  Fabrizio.  Never  had  that 
handsome  Lombard  countenance  seemed  to  him  so  simple 

150 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  so  noble.  Fabrizio  was  paying  much  more  attention 
than  the  duchess  to  the  difficulties  he  was  relating. 

"  Really,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  that  face  combines  ex- 
treme kind-heartedness  with  a  certain  expression  of  tender 
and  artless  delight  which  is  quite  irresistible.  It  seems  to 
say,  '  The  only  serious  matters  in  this  world  are  love  and  the 
happiness  it  brings.'  And  yet  if  any  detail  which  demands 
intelligence  occurs,  his  eye  kindles,  and  one  is  quite  aston- 
ished and  amazed. 

"  In  his  eyes  everything  is  simple,  because  everything  is 
sent  from  above.  My  God,  how  am  I  to  struggle  against 
such  an  enemy  ?  And  after  all,  what  will  my  life  be  without 
Gina's  love?  With  what  delight  she  seems  to  listen  to  the 
charming  sallies  of  that  young  intellect,  which,  to  a  woman's 
mind,  must  seem  unique !  " 

A  frightful  thought  clutched  the  count  like  a  cramp. 
"  Shall  I  stab  him  there,  in  her  sight,  and  kill  myself  after- 
ward ?  "  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room ;  his  legs  were 
shaking  under  him,  but  his  hand  closed  convulsively  upon 
the  handle  of  his  dagger.  Neither  of  the  others  were  pay- 
ing any  attention  to  him.  He  said  he  was  going  to  give  an 
order  to  his  servant.  They  did  not  even  hear  him;  the 
duchess  was  laughing  fondly  at  something  Fabrizio  had 
just  said  to  her.  The  count  went  under  a  lamp  in  the  outer 
drawing-room,  and  looked  to  see  whether  the  point  of  his 
dagger  was  sharp.  "  My  manner  to  the  young  man  must 
be  gracious  and  perfectly  polite,"  he  thought,  as  he  returned 
and  drew  close  to  them. 

His  brain  was  boiling.  They  seemed  to  him  to  be  bend- 
ing forward  and  exchanging  kisses  there  in  his  very  sight. 
"  That  is  not  possible  under  my  eyes,"  he  thought.  "  My 
reason  is  going.  I  must  compose  myself.  If  I  am  rough 
the  duchess  is  capable,  out  of  sheer  pique  to  her  vanity,  of 
following  him  to  Belgirate,  and  there,  or  during  the  jour- 
ney, a  chance  word  may  give  a  name  to  what  they  feel  for 
each  other;  and  then,  in  a  moment,  all  the  consequences 
must  come. 

"  Solitude  will  make  that  one  word  decisive,  and  besides, 
what  is  to  become  of  me  once  the  duchess  is  far  away  from 

151 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

me  ?  And  if,  after  a  great  many  difficulties  with  the  prince,  I 
should  go  and  show  my  aged  and  careworn  face  at  Belgirate, 
what  part  should  I  play  between  those  two  in  their  delirious 
happiness  ? 

"  Even  here,  what  am  I  but  the  terso  incommodo  (our 
beautiful  Italian  language  was  made  for  the  purposes  of 
love) !  Terzo  incommodo  (the  third  party,  in  the  way) ! 
What  anguish  for  a  man  of  parts  to  feel  himself  in  this  vile 
position,  and  not  to  have  strength  of  mind  to  get  up  and 
go  away ! " 

The  count  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  out,  or  at  all 
events  of  betraying  his  suffering  by  the  disorder  of  his 
countenance.  As  he  walked  round  the  drawing-room,  find- 
ing himself  close  to  the  door,  he  took  to  flight,  calling  out, 
in  good-natured  and  friendly  fashion,  "  Good-bye,  you 
two! — I  must  not  shed  blood,"  he  murmured  to  himself. 

On  the  morrow  of  that  horrible  evening,  after  a  night 
spent  partly  in  revolving  Fabrizio's  advantages,  and  partly 
in  the  agonizing  paroxysms  of  the  most  cruel  jealousy,  it 
occurred  to  the  count  to  send  for  a  young  man-servant  of 
his  own.  This  man  was  making  love  to  a  girl  named  Cec- 
china,  one  of  the  duchess's  waiting-maids,  and  her  favourite. 
By  good  luck,  this  young  servant  was  exceedingly  steady  in 
his  conduct,  even  stingy,  and  was  anxious  to  be  appointed 
doorkeeper  in  one  of  the  public  buildings  at  Parma.  The 
count  ordered  this  man  to  send  instantly  for  Cecchina.  The 
man  obeyed,  and  an  hour  later  the  count  appeared  unexpect- 
edly in  the  room  occupied  by  the  girl  and  her  lover.  The 
count  alarmed  them  both  by  the  quantity  of  gold  coins  he 
gave  them;  then,  looking  into  the  trembling  Cecchina's 
eyes,  he  addressed  her  in  the  following  words :  "  Are  there 
love  passages  between  the  duchess  and  monsignore  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  making  up  her  mind  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence.  "  No,  not  yet ;  but  he  often  kisses  the  sig- 
nora's  hands.  He  laughs,  I  know,  but  he  kisses  them  pas- 
sionately." 

This  testimony  was  borne  out  by  a  hundred  answers  to 
as  many  questions  put  by  the  distracted  count.  His  pas- 
sionate anxiety  ensured  the  poor  folks  honest  earning  of 

.152 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  money  he  had  given  them.  He  ended  by  believing  what 
they  told  him,  and  felt  less  wretched.  "  If  ever  the  duchess 
suspects  this  conversation  of  ours,"  he  said  to  Cecchina,  "  I 
will  send  your  lover  to  spend  twenty  years  in  the  fortress, 
and  you  will  never  see  him  again  till  his  hair  is  white." 

A  few  days  went  by,  during  which  it  became  Fabrizio's 
turn  to  lose  all  his  cheerfulness. 

"  I  assure  you,"  he  kept  saying  to  the  duchess,  "  Count 
Mosca  has  an  antipathy  to  me." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  his  Excellency ! "  she  replied 
with  a  touch  of  peevishness. 

This  was  not  the  real  cause  of  the  anxiety  which  had 
driven  away  Fabrizio's  gaiety.  **  The  position,"  he  mused, 
"  in  which  chance  has  placed  me  is  untenable.  I  am  quite 
sure  she  will  never  speak — a  too  significant  word  would  be 
as  horrifying  to  her  as  an  act  of  incest.  But  supposing  that 
one  evening,  after  a  day  of  imprudence  and  folly,  she  should 
examine  her  own  conscience !  What  will  my  position  be  if 
she  believes  I  have  guessed  at  the  inclination  she  seems  to 
feel  toward  me  ?  I  shall  simply  be  the  casto  Giuseppe  " 
(an  Italian  proverb  alluding  to  Joseph's  ridiculous  position 
with  regard  to  the  wife  of  the  eunuch  Potiphar). 

"  Shall  I  make  her  understand  by  confiding  to  her 
frankly  that  I  am  quite  incapable  of  any  serious  passion? 
My  ideas  are  not  sufficiently  well  ordered  to  enable  me  to 
express  the  fact  so  as  to  prevent  its  appearing  a  piece  of 
deliberate  impertinence.  My  only  other  resource  is  to  simu- 
late a  great  devotion  for  a  lady  left  behind  me  in  Naples, 
and  in  that  case  I  must  go  back  there  for  four-and-twenty 
hours.  This  plan  is  a  wise  one,  but  what  a  trouble  it  will 
be!  I  might  try  some  obscure  little  love  affair  here  at 
Parma.  This  might  cause  displeasure,  but  anything  is  pref- 
erable to  the  horrible  position  of  the  man  who  will  not  un- 
derstand. This  last  expedient  may,  indeed,  compromise 
my  future.  I  must  try  to  diminish  that  danger  by  my  pru- 
dence, and  by  buying  discretion."  The  cruel  thought,  amid 
all  these  considerations,  was  that  Fabrizio  really  cared  for 
the  duchess  far  more  than  he  did  for  anybody  else  in  the 
world.     "  I  must  be  awkward  indeed,"  said  he  to  himself 

153 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

angrily,  "  if  I  am  so  afraid  of  not  being  able  to  convince  her 
of  what  is  really  true." 

He  had  not  wit  to  extricate  himself  from  the  difficulty, 
and  he  soon  grew  gloomy  and  morose.  "  What  would  be- 
come of  me,  great  heavens,  if  I  were  to  quarrel  with  the  only 
being  on  earth  to  whom  I  am  passionately  attached  ?  " 

On  the  other  hand,  Fabrizio  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  to  disturb  so  delightful  a  condition  of  felicity  by  an 
imprudent  word.  His  position  was  so  full  of  enjoyment, 
his  intimate  relations  with  so  charming  and  so  pretty  a 
woman  were  so  delightful !  As  regarded  the  more  trivial 
aspects  of  life,  her  protection  insured  him  such  an  agreeable 
position  at  the  court,  the  deep  intrigues  of  which,  thanks  to 
the  explanations  she  gave  him,  amused  him  like  a  stage  play. 
"  But  at  any  moment,"  he  reflected,  "  I  may  be  wakened  as 
by  a  thunderclap.  If  one  of  these  evenings,  so  cheerful  and 
affectionate,  spent  alone  with  this  fascinating  woman,  should 
lead  to  anything  more  fervent,  she  will  expect  to  find  a 
lover  in  me.  She  will  look  for  raptures  and  wild  transports, 
and  all  I  can  ever  give  her  is  the  liveliest  affection,  with- 
out any  love.  Nature  has  bereft  me  of  the  capacity  for  that 
sort  of  sublime  madness.  What  reproaches  I  have  had  to 
endure  on  that  score  already!     I  fancy   I   still  hear  the 

Duchess  of  A ,  and  I  could  laugh  at  the  duchess !    But 

she  will  think  that  I  fail  in  love  for  her,  whereas  it  is  love 
which  fails  in  me;  and  she  never  will  understand  me. 
Often,  when  she  has  told  me  some  story  about  the  court, 
with  all  the  grace  and  frolicsomeness  that  she  alone  pos- 
sesses— ^and  a  story,  besides,  which  it  is  indispensable  for  me 
to  know — I  kiss  her  hands  and  sometimes  her  cheek  as  well. 
What  should  I  do  if  her  hand  pressed  mine  in  one  particu- 
lar way  ?  " 

Fabrizio  showed  himself  daily  in  the  most  esteemed  and 
dullest  houses  in  Parma.  Guided  by  his  aunt's  wise  coun- 
sels, he  paid  skilful  court  to  the  two  princes,  father  and  son, 
to  the  Princess  Clara  Paolina,  and  to  the  archbishop.  Suc- 
cess came  to  him,  but  this  did  not  console  him  for  his 
mortal  terror  of  a  misunderstanding  with  the  duchess. 


154 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Thus,  only  a  month  after  his  arrival  at  court,  Fabrizio 
was  acquainted  with  all  the  worries  of  a  courtier,  and  the 
intimate  friendship  which  had  been  the  happiness  of  his  life 
was  poisoned.  One  evening,  harassed  by  these  thoughts, 
he  left  the  duchess's  apartments,  where  he  looked  far  too 
much  like  the  reigning  lover,  and,  wandering  aimlessly 
through  the  town,  happened  to  pass  by  the  theatre,  which 
was  lighted  up.  He  went  in.  This,  for  a  man  of  his  cloth, 
was  a  piece  of  gratuitous  imprudence,  and  one  he  had  fully 
intended  to  avoid  while  at  Parma,  which,  after  all,  is  only  a 
small  town  of  forty  thousand  inhabitants.  It  is  true,  indeed, 
that  from  the  first  days  of  his  residence  there  he  had  put 
aside  his  official  dress,  and  in  the  evenings,  unless  he  was 
going  to  very  large  parties,  he  wore  plain  black,  like  any 
man  in  mourning. 

At  the  theatre  he  took  a  box  on  the  third  tier,  so  as  not 
to  be  seen.  The  piece  was  Goldoni's  "  Locandiera."  He  was 
looking  at  the  architecture  of  the  house,  and  had  hardly 
turned  his  eyes  upon  the  stage.  But  the  numerous  audience 
was  in  a  state  of  constant  laughter.  Fabrizio  glanced  at  the 
young  actress  who  was  playing  the  part  of  the  Locandiera, 
and  thought  her  droll ;  he  looked  at  her  more  attentively, 
and  she  struck  him  as  being  altogether  pretty,  and,  above 
all,  exceedingly  natural.  She  was  a  simple  young  creature, 
the  first  to  laugh  at  the  pretty  things  Goldoni  had  put  into 
her  mouth,  which  seemed  to  astonish  her  as  she  spoke  them. 
He  inquired  her  name,  and  was  told  it  was  Marietta  Val- 
serra. 

"  Ah,"  thought  he  to  himself,  "  she  has  taken  my  name ! 
How  odd !  "  Contrary  to  his  intention,  he  did  not  leave  the 
theatre  until  the  play  was  over.    The  next  day  he  came  back. 

155 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Three  days  after  that  he  had  found  out  where  Marietta  Val- 
serra  lived. 

On  the  very  evening  of  the  day  on  which,  with  a  good 
deal  of  difficulty,  he  had  procured  this  address,  he  noticed 
that  the  count  looked  at  him  in  the  most  pleasant  manner. 
The  poor  jealous  lover,  who  had  hard  work  to  restrain 
himself  within  the  bounds  of  prudence,  had  set  spies  upon 
the  young  man's  conduct,  and  was  delighted  at  his  freak 
for  the  actress.  How  shall  I  describe  the  count's  delight 
when,  the  day  after  that  on  which  he  had  been  able  to  force 
himself  to  be  gracious  to  Fabrizio,  he  learned  that  the 
young  man — partly  disguised,  indeed,  in  a  long  blue  over- 
coat— had  climbed  to  the  wretched  apartment  on  the  fourth 
floor  of  an  old  house  behind  the  theatre,  in  which  Marietta 
Valserra  lived.  His  delight  increased  twofold  when  he 
knew  that  Fabrizio  had  presented  himself  under  a  false 
name,  and  was  honoured  by  the  jealousy  of  a  good-for- 
nothing  fellow  of  the  name  of  Giletti,  who  played  third-rate 
servants'  parts  in  the  city,  and  danced  on  the  tight  rope  in 
the  neighbouring  villages.  This  noble  lover  of  Marietta's 
was  heaping  volleys  of  abuse  on  Fabrizio,  and  vowed  he 
would  kill  him. 

Opera  companies  are  formed  by  an  impresario,  who  en- 
gages the  artists  he  can  afford  to  pay,  or  finds  disengaged, 
from  all  quarters,  and  the  company  thus  collected  by  chance 
remains  together  for  a  season  or  two,  at  the  outside.  This 
is  not  the  case  with  comedy  companies.  These,  though  they 
move  about  from  town  to  town,  and  change  their  place  of 
residence  every  two  or  three  months,  continue,  neverthe- 
less, as  one  family,  the  members  of  which  either  love  or  hate 
each  other.  These  companies  frequently  comprise  couples, 
living  in  constant  and  close  relations,  which  the  beaux  of 
the  towns  in  which  they  occasionally  perform  find  it  very 
difficult  to  break  up.  This  is  exactly  what  happened  to  our 
hero.  Little  Marietta  liked  him  well  enough,  but  she  was 
horribly  afraid  of  Giletti,  who  claimed  to  be  her  lord  and 
master,  and  kept  a  close  eye  upon  her.  He  openly  declared 
that  he  would  kill  the  monsignore,  for  he  had  dogged  Fa- 
brizio's  steps,  and  had  succeeded  in  finding  out  his  name. 

156 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

This  Giletti  was  certainly  the  most  hideous  of  beings,  and 
the  least  attractive  imaginable  as  a  lover.  He  was  enor- 
mously tall,  hideously  thin,  deeply  pitted  with  small-pox,  and 
had  something  of  a  squint  into  the  bargain.  Notwithstand- 
ing this,  he  was  full  of  the  graces  peculiar  to  his  trade,  and 
would  make  his  entry  on  the  wings,  where  his  comrades 
were  assembled,  turning  wheels  on  his  hands  and  feet,  or 
performing  some  other  pleasing  trick.  His  great  parts  were 
those  in  which  the  actor  appears  with  his  face  whitened  with 
flour,  and  receives  or  inflicts  innumerable  blows  with  a  stick. 
This  worthy  rival  of  Fabrizio's  received  a  salary  of  thirty- 
two  francs  a  month,  and  thought  himself  very  well  off  in- 
deed. 

To  Count  Mosca  it  was  as  though  he  had  been  brought 
back  from  the  gates  of  the  tomb,  when  his  watchers  brought 
him  the  proofs  of  all  these  details.  His  good-nature  re- 
asserted itself ;  he  was  gayer  and  better  company  than  ever 
in  the  duchess's  rooms,  and  took  good  care  not  to  tell  her 
anything  of  the  little  adventure  which  had  restored  him  to 
life.  He  even  took  precautions  to  prevent  her  hearing  any- 
thing of  what  was  happening  until  the  latest  possible  mo- 
ment; and  finally,  he  gathered  courage  to  listen  to  his 
reason,  which  for  a  month  had  been  vainly  assuring  him  that 
whenever  a  lover's  merits  fade,  that  lover  should  take  a 
journey. 

Important  business  summoned  him  to  Bologna,  and 
twice  a  day  the  cabinet  couriers  brought  him,  not  so  much 
the  necessary  papers  from  his  offices,  as  news  of  little  Mari- 
etta's amours,  of  the  redoubtable  Giletti's  fury,  and  of  Fa- 
brizio's undertakings. 

Several  times  over  one  of  the  count's  agents  bespoke 
performances  of  "  Arlecchino  schelettro  e  pasta,"  one  of 
Giletti's  triumphs  (he  emerges  from  the  pie  just  as  his  rival 
Brighella  is  going  to  eat  it,  and  thrashes  him  soundly).  This 
made  a  pretext  for  sending  him  a  hundred  francs.  Giletti, 
who  was  over  head  and  ears  in  debt,  took  good  care  to  say 
nothing  about  this  windfall,  but  his  pride  reached  an  aston- 
ishing pitch. 

What  had  been  a  whim  in  Fabrizio's  case,  now  became  a 

157 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

matter  of  piqued  vanity.  (Young  as  he  was,  his  anxieties 
had  already  driven  him  to  indulge  in  whims.)  His  vanity 
led  him  to  the  theatre;  the  little  girl  acted  very  well  and 
amused  him.  When  the  play  was  over  he  was  in  love  for 
quite  an  hour.  The  count,  receiving  news  that  Fabrizio 
was  in  real  danger,  returned  to  Parma.  Giletti,  who  had 
served  as  a  dragoon  in  the  fine  "  Napoleon  "  regiment,  was 
seriously  talking  of  murdering  Fabrizio,  and  was  making 
arrangements  for  his  subsequent  flight  into  the  Romagna. 
If  my  reader  be  very  young,  he  will  be  scandalized  by  my 
admiration  for  this  fine  trait  of  virtue.  Yet  it  involved  no 
small  effort  of  heroism  on  the  count's  part  to  leave  Bologna. 
For  too  often,  indeed,  in  the  mornings,  his  complexion 
looked  sorely  jaded,  and  Fabrizio's  was  so  fresh  and  pleasant 
to  look  at!  Who  could  have  reproached  him  with  Fa- 
brizio's death  if  it  had  occurred  in  his  absence,  and  on  ac- 
count of  so  foolish  a  business  ?  But  to  his  rare  nature,  the 
thought  of  a  generous  action,  which  he  might  have  done, 
and  which  he  had  not  performed,  would  have  been  an  eternal 
remorse ;  and,  further,  he  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  seeing 
the  duchess  sad,  and  by  his  fault. 

When  he  arrived,  he  found  her  taciturn  and  gloomy. 
This  is  what  had  happened.  Her  little  maid  Cecchina,  tor- 
mented by  remorse  and  gauging  the  importance  of  her  own 
fault  by  the  large  sum  she  had  been  paid  for  committing  it, 
had  fallen  sick.  One  night  the  duchess,  who  had  a  real  re- 
gard for  her,  went  up  to  her  room.  The  young  girl  could 
not  resist  this  mark  of  kindness.  She  burst  into  tears, 
begged  her  mistress  to  take  back  the  money  still  remaining 
to  her  out  of  what  she  had  received,  and  at  last  gathered 
courage  to  tell  her  the  story  of  the  count's  questions  and 
her  own  replies.  The  duchess  ran  across  to  the  lamp  and  put 
it  out.  Then  she  told  Cecchina  that  she  would  forgive  her, 
but  only  on  condition  that  she  never  said  a  word  about  the 
strange  scene  to  anybody  on  earth.  "  The  poor  count,"  she 
added  carelessly,  "  is  afraid  of  looking  ridiculous — all  men 
are  alike." 

The  duchess  hurried  down  to  her  own  apartments.  She 
had  hardly  shut  herself  into  her  own  room  before  she  burst 

158 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

into  tears.  The  idea  of  love  passages  with  Fabrizio,  at 
whose  birth  she  had  been  present,  was  horrible  to  her,  and 
yet  what  other  meaning  could  her  conduct  bear? 

Such  had  been  the  first  cause  of  the  black  depression 
in  which  the  count  found  her  plunged.  When  he  arrived, 
she  had  fits  of  impatience  with  him,  and  almost  with  Fa- 
brizio; she  would  have  liked  never  to  have  seen  either  of 
them  again.  She  was  vexed  by  Fabrizio's  behaviour  with 
little  Marietta,  which  seemed  to  her  ridiculous.  For  the 
count — who,  like  a  true  lover,  could  keep  nothing  from  his 
mistress — had  told  her  the  whole  story.  She  could  not  grow 
accustomed  to  this  disaster;  there  was  a  flaw  in  her  idol. 
At  last,  in  a  moment  of  confidence,  she  asked  the  count's 
advice.  It  was  an  exquisite  instant  for  him,  and  a  worthy 
reward  for  the  upright  impulse  which  had  brought  him  back 
to  Parma. 

"What  can  be  more  simple ?"  said  the  count,  with  a  smile. 
"  These  young  fellows  fall  in  love  with  every  woman  they 
see,  and  the  next  morning  they  have  forgotten  all  about 
her.  Ought  he  not  to  go  to  Belgirate  to  see  the  Marchesa 
del  Dongo?  Very  well,  then.  Let  him  start.  While  he  is 
away  I  shall  request  the  comedy  company  to  remove  itself 
and  its  talents  elsewhere,  and  will  pay  its  travelling  ex- 
penses. But  we  shall  soon  see  him  in  love  again  with 
the  first  pretty  woman  chance  may  throw  across  his  path. 
That  is  the  natural  order  of  things,  and  I  would  not  have 
it  otherwise.  If  it  is  necessary,  let  the  marchesa  write 
to  him." 

This  suggestion,  emitted  with  an  air  of  the  most  com- 
plete indifference,  was  a  ray  of  light  to  the  duchess;  she 
was  afraid  of  Giletti. 

That  evening  the  count  mentioned,  as  though  by  chance, 
that  one  of  his  couriers  was  about  to  pass  through  Milan  on 
his  way  to  Vienna. 

Three  days  later  Fabrizio  received  a  letter  from  his 
mother. 

He  departed,  very  much  annoyed  because  Giletti's  jeal- 
ousy had  hitherto  prevented  him  from  taking  advantage  of 
the  friendly  feelings  of  which  Marietta  had  assured  him 

■    •  159 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

through  her  mamaccia,  an  old  woman  who  performed  the 
functions  of  her  mother. 

Fabrizio  met  his  mother  and  one  of  his  sisters  at  Bel- 
girate,  a  large  Piedmontese  village  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
Lago  Maggiore.  The  left  bank  is  in  Milanese  territory, 
and  consequently  belongs  to  Austria. 

This  lake,  which  is  parallel  to  the  Lake  of  Como,  and, 
like  it,  runs  from  north  to  south,  lies  about  thirty  miles  far- 
ther westward.  The  mountain  air,  the  calm  and  majestic 
aspect  of  the  splendid  lake,  which  recalled  that  near  which 
he  had  spent  his  childhood,  all  contributed  to  change  Fa- 
brizio's  annoyance,  which  had  verged  upon  anger,  into  a 
gentle  melancholy.  The  memory  of  the  duchess  rose  up 
before  him,  clothed  with  infinite  tenderness.  It  seemed  to 
him,  now  he  was  far  from  her,  that  he  was  beginning  to 
love  her  with  that  love  which  he  had  never  yet  felt  for  any 
woman.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  painful  to  him 
than  the  thought  of  being  parted  from  her  forever,  and  if, 
while  he  was  in  this  frame  of  mind,  the  duchess  had  con- 
descended to  the  smallest  coquetry — such,  for  example,  as 
giving  him  a  rival — she  would  have  conquered  his  heart. 

But  far  from  taking  so  decisive  a  step,  she  could  not 
help  reproaching  herself  bitterly  because  her  thoughts 
hovered  so  constantly  about  the  young  traveller's  path.  She 
upbraided  herself  for  what  she  still  called  a  fancy,  as  if  it 
had  been  an  abomination.  Her  kindness  and  attention  to 
the  count  increased  twofold,  and  he,  bewitched  by  all  these 
charms,  could  not  listen  to  the  healthy  reason  which  pre- 
scribed a  second  trip  to  Bologna. 

The  Marchesa  del  Dongo,  greatly  hurried  by  the  ar- 
rangements for  the  wedding  of  her  eldest  daughter  with  a 
Milanese  duke,  could  only  spend  three  days  with  her  be- 
loved son.  Never  had  she  found  him  so  full  of  tender  aflfec- 
tion.  Amid  the  melancholy  which  was  taking  stronger  and 
yet  stronger  hold  of  Fabrizio's  soul,  a  strange  and  even 
absurd  idea  had  presented  itself  to  him,  and  was  forthwith 
carried  into  effect.  Dare  we  say  he  was  bent  on  consulting 
Father  Blanes  ?  The  good  old  man  was  perfectly  incapable 
of  understanding  the  sorrows  of  a  heart  torn  by  various 

i6o 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

boyish  passions  of  almost  equal  strength;  and  besides,  it 
would  have  taken  a  week  to  give  him  even  a  faint  idea  of 
the  various  interests  at  Parma  which  Fabrizio  was  forced 
to  consider.  Yet  when  Fabrizio  thought  of  consulting  him, 
all  the  fresh  feelings  of  his  sixteenth  year  came  back  to  him. 
Shall  I  be  believed  when  I  affirm  that  it  was  not  simply  to 
the  wise  man  and  the  absolutely  faithful  friend  that  Fabrizio 
longed  to  speak?  The  object  of  this  excursion  and  the 
feelings  which  agitated  our  hero  all  through  the  fifty  hours 
of  its  duration  are  so  absurd,  that  for  the  sake  of  my  story 
I  should  doubtless  do  better  to  suppress  them.  I  fear  Fa- 
brizio's  credulity  may  deprive  him  of  the  reader's  sympathy. 
But  thus  he  was.  Why  should  I  flatter  him  more  than 
another  ?  I  have  not  flattered  Count  Mosca  nor  the  prince. 
Fabrizio,  then,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  accompanied 
his  mother  to  the  port  of  Laveno,  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  Lago  Maggiore,  the  Austrian  side,  where  she  landed 
about  eight  o'clock  at  night.  (The  lake  itself  is  consid- 
ered neutral,  and  no  passports  are  asked  of  any  one  who 
does  not  land.)  But  darkness  had  hardly  fallen  before  he, 
too,  had  himself  put  ashore  on  that  same  Austrian  bank, 
in  a  little  wood  which  juts  out  into  the  water.  He  had  hired 
a  sediola — a  sort  of  country  g^g  which  travels  very  fast — in 
which  he  was  able  to  follow  about  five  hundred  paces  behind 
his  mother's  carriage.  He  was  disguised  as  a  servant  be- 
longing to  the  Casa  del  Dongo,  and  none  of  the  numerous 
police  or  customs  officers  thought  of  asking  him  for  his 
passport.  A  quarter  of  a  league  from  Como,  where  the 
Marchesa  del  Dongo  and  her  daughter  were  to  spend  the 
night,  he  took  a  path  to  the  left,  which,  after  running  round 
the  village  of  Vico,  joined  a  narrow  newly  made  road  along 
the  very  edge  of  the  lake.  It  was  midnight,  and  Fabrizio 
had  reason  to  hope  he  would  not  meet  any  gendarmes.  The 
black  outline  of  the  foliage  on  the  clumps  of  trees  through 
which  the  road  constantly  passed  stood  out  against  a  starry 
sky,  just  veiled  by  a  light  mist.  A  profound  stillness  hung 
over  the  waters  and  the  sky.  Fabrizio's  soul  could  not 
resist  this  sublime  beauty;  he  stopped  and  seated  himself 
on  a  rock  which  jutted  out  into  the  lake  and  formed  a 

i6i 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

little  promontory.  Nothing  broke  the  universal  silence, 
save  the  little  waves  that  died  out  at  regular  intervals  upon 
the  beach.  Fabrizio  had  the  heart  of  an  Italian.  I  beg  the 
fact  may  be  forgiven  him.  This  drawback,  which  will  make 
him  less  attractive,  consisted,  above  all,  in  the  following 
fact :  he  was  only  vain  by  fits  and  starts,  and  the  very  sight 
of  sublime  beauty  filled  his  heart  with  emotion,  and  blunted 
the  keen  and  cruel  edge  of  his  sorrows.  Sitting  on  his  lonely 
rock,  no  longer  forced  to  keep  watch  against  police  agents, 
sheltered  by  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  the  vast  silence, 
soft  tears  rose  in  his  eyes,  and  he  enjoyed,  at  very  little 
cost,  the  happiest  moments  he  had  known  for  many  a  day. 

He  resolved  he  would  never  tell  a  lie  to  the  duchess ;  and 
it  was  because  he  loved  her  to  adoration  at  that  moment  that 
he  swore  an  oath  never  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her;  never 
would  he  drop  into  her  ear  that  word  love,  because  the 
passion  to  which  the  name  is  given  had  never  visited  his 
heart.  In  the  frenzy  of  generosity  and  virtue  which  made 
him  feel  so  happy  at  that  moment,  he  resolved,  on  the  earliest 
opportunity,  to  tell  her  the  whole  truth — that  his  heart  had 
never  known  what  love  might  be.  Once  this  bold  decision 
had  been  adopted,  he  felt  as  though  a  huge  weight  had  been 
lifted  oflf  him.  "  Perhaps  she  will  say  something  to  me 
about  Marietta.  Very  good;  then  I  will  never  see  little 
Marietta  again,"  he  answered  his  own  thought,  joyously. 

The  morning  breeze  was  beginning  to  temper  the  over- 
whelming heat  which  had  prevailed  the  whole  day  long.  The 
dawn  was  already  outlining  the  Alpine  peaks  which  rise  over 
the  northern  and  eastern  shores  of  the  Lake  of  Como  with 
a  pale  faint  light.  Their  masses,  white  with  snow,  even  in 
the  month  of  June,  stand  out  sharply  against  the  clear  blue 
of  a  sky  which,  at  those  great  heights,  no  cloud  ever  dims. 
A  spur  of  the  Alps  running  southward  toward  the  favoured 
land  of  Italy  separates  the  slopes  of  Como  from  those  of 
Garda.  Fabrizio's  eye  followed  all  the  branchings  of  the 
noble  range ;  the  dawn,  as  it  drove  away  the  light  mists  ris- 
ing from  the  gorges,  revealed  the  valleys  lying  between. 

He  had  resumed  his  way  some  minutes  previously;  he 
climbed  the  hill  which  forms  the  Durini  promontory,  and  at 

162 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

last  his  eyes  beheld  the  church  tower  of  Girianta,  from  which 
he  had  so  often  watched  the  stars  with  Father  Blanes. 
"  How  crassly  ignorant  I  was  in  those  days !  "  he  thought. 
"  I  couldn't  even  understand  the  absurd  Latin  of  the  astro- 
logical treatises  my  master  thumbed;  and  I  believe  the 
chief  reason  of  my  respect  for  them  was  that,  as  I  only 
comprehended  a  word  here  and  there,  my  imagination  un- 
dertook to  supply  their  meaning  after  the  most  romantic 
fashion." 

Gradually  his  reverie  wandered  into  another  direction. 
Was  there  anything  real  about  this  science  ?  Why  should  it 
be  different  from  others?  A  certain  number  of  fools  and 
of  clever  people,  for  instance,  agree  between  themselves  that 
they  understand  the  Mexican  language.  By  this  means  they 
impose  on  society,  which  respects  them,  and  on  govern- 
ments, who  pay  them.  They  are  loaded  with  favours,  just 
because  they  are  stupid,  and  because  the  people  in  power 
need  not  fear  their  disturbing  the  populace,  and  stirring  in- 
terest and  pity  by  their  generous  sentiments.  "  Look  at 
Father  Bari,  on  whom  Ernest  IV  has  just  bestowed  a  pen- 
sion of  four  thousand  francs  and  the  cross  of  his  order,  for 
having  reconstituted  nineteen  lines  of  a  Greek  dithyramb ! 

"  But,  after  all,  what  right  have  I  to  think  such  things 
absurd  ?  "  he  exclaimed  of  a  sudden,  stopping  short.  "  Has 
not  that  very  same  cross  been  given  to  my  own  tutor  ?  " 
Fabrizio  felt  profoundly  uncomfortable.  The  noble  pas- 
sion for  virtue  which  had  lately  thrilled  his  heart  was  being 
transformed  into  the  mean  satisfaction  of  enjoying  a  good 
share  in  the  proceeds  of  a  robbery.  "  Well,"  said  he  at 
last,  and  his  eyes  grew  dim  as  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  is 
discontented  with  himself,  "  since  my  birth  gives  me  a  right 
to  profit  by  these  abuses,  I  should  be  an  arrant  fool  if  I 
did  not  take  my  share;  but  I  must  not  venture  to  speak 
evil  of  them  in  public  places."  This  argument  was  not  de- 
void of  sense,  but  Fabrizio  had  fallen  a  long  way  below  the 
heights  of  sublime  delight  on  which  he  had  hovered  only  an 
hour  before.  The  thought  of  his  privileges  had  scorched 
that  always  delicate  plant  which  men  call  happiness. 

"  If  I  must  not  believe  in  astrology,"  he  went  on,  mak- 

163 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ing  an  effort  to  divert  his  thoughts,  "  if,  like  three-fourths  of 
the  non-mathematical  sciences,  this  one  is  no  more  than 
an  association  of  enthusiastic  simpletons  with  clever  hum- 
bugs, paid  by  those  they  serve,  how  comes  it  that  I  dwell  so 
often,  and  with  so  much  emotion,  upon  that  fatal  episode? 

I  did  escape,  long  since,  from  the  jail  at  B ,  but  I  was 

wearing  the  clothes  and  using  the  papers  of  a  soldier  who 
had  been  justly  cast  into  prison." 

Fabrizio's  reasoning  would  never  carry  him  any  farther 
than  this.  He  revolved  the  difficulty  in  a  hundred  ways, 
but  he  never  could  surmount  it.  He  was  too  young  as  yet. 
During  his  leisure  moments,  his  soul  was  steeped  in  the 
delight  of  tasting  the  sensations  arising  out  of  the  romantic 
circumstances  with  which  his  imagination  was  always  ready 
to  supply  him.  He  by  no  means  employed  his  time  in  pa- 
tiently considering  the  real  peculiarities  of  things,  and  then 
discovering  their  causes.  Reality  still  seemed  to  him  dull 
and  dirty.  I  can  conceive  its  not  being  pleasant  to  look  at. 
But  then  one  should  not  argue  about  it.  Above  all  things, 
one  should  not  put  forward  one's  own  various  forms  of 
ignorance  as  objections. 

Thus  it  was  that,  though  Fabrizio  was  no  fool,  he  was 
not  able  to  realize  that  his  half  belief  in  omens  really  was 
a  religion,  a  profound  impression  received  at  his  entrance 
into  life.  The  thought  of  this  belief  was  a  sensation  and  a 
happiness,  and  he  obstinately  endeavoured  to  discover  how 
it  might  be  proved  a.  science  which  really  did  exist,  like  that 
of  geometry,  for  instance.  He  eagerly  ransacked  his  mem- 
ory for  the  occasions  on  which  the  omens  he  had  observed 
had  not  been  followed  by  the  happy  or  unfortunate  event 
they  had  appeared  to  prognosticate.  But  though  he  be- 
lieved himself  to  be  following  out  a  course  of  argument,  and 
so  drawing  nearer  to  the  truth,  his  memory  dwelt  with 
delight  on  those  cases  in  which  the  omen  had,  on  the  whole, 
been  followed  by  the  accident,  good  or  evil,  which  he  had 
believed  it  to  foretell,  and  his  soul  was  filled  with  emotion 
and  respect.  And  he  would  have  felt  an  invincible  repug- 
nance toward  any  one  who  denied  the  existence  of  such 
signs,  more  especially  if  he  had  spoken  of  them  jestingly. 

164 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Fabrizio  had  been  walking  along  without  any  regard 
for  distance,  and  he  had  reached  this  point  in  his  powerless 
arguments  when,  raising  his  head,  he  found  himself  con- 
fronted by  the  wall  of  his  own  father's  garden.  This  wall, 
which  supported  a  fine  terrace,  rose  more  than  forty  feet 
above  the  road,  on  the  right-hand  side.  A  course  of 
dressed  stone,  running  along  the  top,  close  to  the  balustrade, 
gave  it  a  monumental  appearance.  "  It's  not  bad,"  said 
Fabrizio  coldly  to  himself.  "  The  architecture  is  good ;  very 
nearly  Roman  in  style."  He  was  applying  his  new  an- 
tiquarian knowledge.  Then  he  turned  away  in  disgust — his 
father's  severity  and,  above  all,  his  brother  Ascanio's  de- 
nunciation after  his  return  from  France,  came  back  to  his 
mind. 

"  That  unnatural  denunciation  has  been  the  origfin  of 
my  present  way  of  life.  I  may  hate  it,  I  may  scorn  it,  but, 
after  all,  it  has  changed  my  fate.  What  would  have  become 
of  me  once  I  had  been  sent  to  Novara,  where  my  father's 
man  of  business  could  hardly  endure  the  sight  of  me,  if  my 
aunt  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  a  powerful  minister?  and 
then,  if  that  same  aunt  had  possessed  a  hard  and  unfeeling 
nature,  instead  of  that  tender  passionate  heart  which  loves 
me  with  a  sort  of  frenzy  that  astounds  me  ?  Where  should 
I  be  now  if  the  duchess  had  been  like  her  brother,  the 
Marchese  del  Dongo  ?  " 

Lost  in  these  bitter  memories,  Fabrizio  had  been  walk- 
ing aimlessly  forward.  He  reached  the  edge  of  the  moat, 
just  opposite  the  splendid  facade  of  the  castle.  He  scarcely 
cast  a  glance  at  the  huge  time-stained  building.  The  noble 
language  of  its  architecture  fell  on  deaf  ears ;  the  memory  of 
his  father  and  his  brother  shut  every  sensation  of  beauty 
out  of  his  heart.  His  only  thought  was  that  he  must  be  on 
his  guard  in  the  presence  of  a  dangerous  and  hypocritical 
enemy.  For  an  instant,  but  in  evident  disgust,  he  glanced 
at  the  little  window  of  the  third-floor  room  he  had  occupied 
before  1815.  His  father's  treatment  had  wiped  all  the  charm 
out  of  his  memories  of  early  days.  "  I  have  never  been  back 
in  it,"  he  thought,  "  since  eight  o'clock  at  night  on  that 
seventh  of  March.    I  left  it  to  get  the  passport  from  Vasi, 

165 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  the  next  morning,  in  my  terror  of  spies,  I  hurried  on 
my  departure.  When  I  came  back,  after  my  journey  to 
France,  I  had  not  time  even  to  run  up  and  look  once  at 
my  prints ;  and  all  that  thanks  to  my  brother's  accusation." 

Fabrizio  turned  away  his  head  in  horror.  ''  Father 
Blanes  is  more  than  eighty-three  now,"  he  mused  sadly; 
"  he  hardly  ever  comes  to  the  castle,  so  my  sister  tells  me. 
The  infirmities  of  years  have  laid  their  hand  upon  him ;  that 
noble  steady  heart  is  frozen  by  old  age.  God  knows  how 
long  it  may  be  since  he  has  been  in  his  tower!  I'll  hide 
myself  in  his  cellar,  under  the  vats  or  the  wine-press,  until 
he  wakes ;  I  will  not  disturb  the  good  old  man's  slumbers ! 
Probably  he  will  even  have  forgotten  my  face — six  years 
makes  so  much  difference  at  my  age.  I  shall  find  nothing 
but  the  shell  of  my  old  friend.  And  it  really  is  a  piece  of 
childishness,"  he  added,  "  to  have  come  here  to  face  the 
odious  sight  of  my  father's  house." 

Fabrizio  had  just  entered  the  little  square  in  front  of 
the  church.  It  was  with  an  astonishment  that  almost 
reached  delirium  that  he  saw  the  long,  narrow  window  on 
the  second  story  of  the  ancient  tower  lighted  up  by  Father 
Blanes's  little  lantern.  It  was  the  father's  custom  to  place 
it  there  when  he  went  up  to  the  wooden  cage  which  formed 
his  observatory,  so  that  the  light  might  not  prevent  him 
from  reading  his  planisphere.  This  map  of  the  sky  was 
spread  out  on  a  huge  earthenware  vase,  which  had  once 
stood  in  the  castle  orangery.  In  the  orifice  at  the  bottom  of 
the  vase  was  the  tiniest  of  lamps,  the  smoke  of  which  was 
carried  out  of  the  vase  by  a  slender  tin  tube,  and  the  shadow 
cast  by  this  tube  on  the  map  marked  the  north.  All  these 
memories  of  simple  little  things  flooded  Fabrizio's  soul  with 
emotion  and  filled  it  with  happiness. 

Almost  unthinkingly  he  raised  his  two  hands  and  gave 
the  little  low,  short  whistle  which  had  once  been  the  signal 
for  his  admission.  At  once  he  heard  several  pulls  at  the 
cord  running  from  the  observatory,  which  controlled  the 
latch  of  the  tower  door.  In  a  transport  of  emotion  he 
bounded  up  the  stairs  and  found  the  father  sitting  in  his 
accustomed  place  in  his  wooden  arm-chair.     His  eye  was 

i66 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

fixed  on  the  little  telescope.  With  his  left  hand  the  father 
signed  to  him  not  to  interrupt  his  observation.  A  moment 
afterward  he  noted  down  a  figure  on  a  playing  card;  then, 
turning  in  his  chair,  he  held  out  his  arms  to  our  hero,  who 
cast  himself  into  them,  bursting  into  tears.  The  Abbe 
Blanes  was  his  real  father. 

"  I  was  expecting  you,"  said  Blanes  when  the  first  out- 
burst of  tenderness  had  subsided.  Was  the  abbe  posing  as 
a  wise  man,  or  was  it  that  thinking  of  Fabrizio  so  often  as 
he  did,  some  astrological  sign  had  warned  him,  by  a  mere 
chance,  of  his  return  ? 

"  The  hour  of  my  death  draws  near,"  said  Father 
Blanes. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Fabrizio,  much  affected. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  father,  and  his  tone  was  serious, 
but  not  sad.  "  Five  months  and  a  half,  or  six  months  and 
a  half,  after  I  have  seen  you  again,  my  life,  which  will  have 
attained  its  full  measure  of  happiness,  will  fade  out,  '  come 
face  al  mancar  delValimento ' "  (even  as  the  little  lamp  when 
the  oil  fails  in  it). 

"  Before  the  closing  moment  comes  I  shall  probably  be 
speechless  for  one  month  or  two.  After  that  I  shall  be  re- 
ceived into  our  Father's  bosom,  provided,  indeed,  that  he 
is  satisfied  that  I  have  fulfilled  my  duty  at  the  post  where 
he  set  me  as  sentinel. 

"  You  are  worn  out  with  weariness,  your  agitation  makes 
you  inclined  for  sleep.  Since  I  have  expected  you  I  have 
hidden  a  loaf  and  a  bottle  of  brandy  in  the  large  case  which 
contains  my  instruments.  Support  your  life  with  these,  and 
try  to  gather  enough  strength  to  listen  to  me  for  a  few 
moments  more.  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  tell  you  several 
things  before  this  night  has  altogether  passed  into  the  day. 
I  see  them  far  more  distinctly  now,  than  I  may,  perhaps,  see 
them  to-morrow,  for,  my  child,  we  are  always  weak,  and 
we  must  always  reckon  with  this  weakness.  To-morrow, 
it  may  be,  the  old  man,  the  earthly  man,  in  me,  will  be 
making  ready  for  my  death,  and  to-morrow  night,  at  nine 
o'clock,  you  must  leave  me." 

When  Fabrizio  had  obeyed  him  in  silence,  as  was  his 
^.  167 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

wont,  "  It  is  true,  then,"  the  old  man  resumed,  "  that  when 
you  tried  to  see  Waterloo,  all  you  found  at  first  was  a 
prison  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,"  replied  Fabrizio,  much  astonished. 

"  Well,  that  was  a  rare  good  fortune,  for  your  soul, 
warned  by  my  voice,  may  make  itself  ready  to  endure  an- 
other prison,  far  more  severe,  infinitely  more  terrible.  You 
will  probably  only  leave  it  through  a  crime,  but,  thanks  be 
to  Heaven !  the  crime  will  not  be  committed  by  your  hand. 
Never  fall  into  crime,  however  desperately  you  may  be 
tempted.  I  think  I  see  that  there  will  be  some  question  of 
your  killing  an  innocent  man,  who,  without  knowing  it,  has 
usurped  your  rights.  If  you  resist  this  violent  temptation, 
which  will  seem  justified  by  the  laws  of  honour,  your  life  will 
be  very  happy  in  the  eyes  of  men  .  .  .  and  reasonably 
happy  in  the  eyes  of  the  wise,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's 
reflection.  "You  will  die,  my  son,  like  me,  sitting  on  a 
wooden  seat,  far  from  all  luxury,  and  undeceived  by  it. 
And,  like  me,  without  having  any  serious  reproach  upon 
your  soul. 

"  Now  future  matters  are  ended  between  us ;  I  am  not 
able  to  add  anything  of  much  importance.  In  vain  I  have 
sought  to  know  how  long  your  imprisonment  will  last — 
whether  it  will  be  six  months,  a  year,  ten  years.  I  can  not 
discover  anything.  I  must,  I  suppose,  have  committed 
some  sin,  and  it  is  the  will  of  Heaven  to  punish  me  by  the 
sorrow  of  this  uncertainty.  I  have  only  seen  that  after  the 
prison — yet  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  at  the  very  moment 
of  your  leaving  it — there  will  be  what  I  call  a  crime ;  but, 
happily,  I  think  I  may  be  sure  that  it  will  not  be  committed 
by  you.  If  you  are  weak  enough  to  dabble  in  that  crime, 
all  the  rest  of  my  calculations  are  but  one  long  mistake. 
Then  you  will  not  die  with  peace  in  your  soul,  sitting  on  a 
wooden  chair  and  dressed  in  white ! "  As  he  spoke  these 
words  the  father  tried  to  rise,  and  then  it  was  that  Fabrizio 
became  aware  of  the  ravages  time  had  worked  on  his  frame. 
He  took  almost  a  minute  to  get  up  and  turn  toward  Fa- 
brizio. The  young  man  stood  by,  motionless  and  silent.  The 
father  threw  himself  into  his  arms,  and  strained  him  close 

l68 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  him  several  times  over  with  the  utmost  tenderness. 
Then,  with  all  the  old  cheerfulness,  he  said :  "  Try  to  sleep 
in  tolerable  comfort  among  my  instruments.  Take  my  fur- 
lined  wrappers;  you  will  find  several  which  the  Duchess 
Sanseverina  sent  me  four  years  ago.  She  begged  me  to 
foretell  your  future  to  her,  but  I  took  care  to  do  nothing 
of  the  kind,  though  I  kept  her  wrappers  and  her  fine  quad- 
rant. Any  announcement  of  future  events  is  an  infringe- 
ment of  the  rule,  and  involves  this  danger — that  it  may 
change  the  event,  in  which  case  the  whole  science  falls  to 
the  ground,  and  becomes  nothing  more  than  a  childish 
game.  And,  besides,  I  should  have  had  to  say  some  hard 
things  to  the  ever-lovely  duchess.  By  the  way,  do  not  let 
yourself  be  startled  in  your  sleep  by  the  frightful  noise  the 
bells  will  make  in  your  ear,  when  they  ring  for  the  seven 
o'clock  mass ;  later  on  they  will  begin  to  sound  the  big  bell 
on  the  lower  floor,  which  makes  all  my  instruments  rattle. 
To-day  is  the  feast  of  San  Giovita,  soldier  and  martyr.  You 
know  our  little  village  of  Grianta  has  the  same  patron  saint 
as  the  great  city  of  Brescia,  which,  by  the  way,  led  my 
illustrious  master,  Jacopo  Marini,  of  Ravenna,  into  a  very 
comical  error.  Several  times  over  he  assured  me  I  should 
attain  a  very  fair  ecclesiastical  position;  he  thought  I  was 
to  be  priest  of  the  splendid  Church  of  San  Giovita  at  Brescia, 
and  I  have  been  priest  of  a  little  village  numbering  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  souls.  But  it  has  all  been  for  the  best. 
I  saw,  not  ten  years  since,  that  if  I  had  been  priest  of 
Brescia,  my  fate  would  have  led  me  to  a  prison,  on  a  hill 
in  Moravia,  the  Spielberg.  To-morrow  I  will  bring  you 
all  sorts  of  dainty  viands,  stolen  from  the  great  dinner  which 
I  am  giving  to  all  the  neighbouring  priests,  who  are  coming 
to  sing  in  my  high  mass.  I  will  bring  them  into  the  bottom 
of  the  tower,  but  do  not  try  to  see  me,  do  not  come  down  to 
take  possession  of  the  good  things  until  you  have  heard  me 
go  out  again ;  you  must  not  see  me  by  daylight,  and  as  the 
sun  sets  at  twenty-seven  minutes  past  seven  to-morrow,  I 
shall  not  come  to  embrace  you  till  toward  eight  o'clock. 
And  you  must  depart  while  the  hours  are  still  counted  by 
nine — that  is  to  say,  before  the  clock  has  struck  ten.    Take 

169 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

care  you  are  not  seen  at  the  tower  windows;  the  gen- 
darmes hold  a  description  of  your  person,  and  they  are, 
in  a  manner,  under  the  orders  of  your  brother,  who  is  a 
thorough  tyrant.  The  Marchese  del  Dongo  is  breaking," 
added  Blanes  sadly,  "  and  if  he  were  to  see  you,  perhaps 
he  would  give  you  something  from  his  hand  directly  into 
yours.  But  such  benefits,  with  the  stain  of  fraud  upon 
them,  are  not  worthy  of  a  man  such  as  you,  whose  strength 
one  day  will  be  in  his  conscience.  The  marchese  hates  his 
son  Ascanio,  and  to  that  son  the  five  or  six  millions  of 
his  property  will  descend.  That  is  just.  When  he  dies  you 
will  have  four  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  fifty  yards  of  black 
cloth  for  your  servants'  mourning." 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  old  man's  discourse,  Fabrizio's  deep  attention  to  it, 
and  his  own  excessive  weariness,  had  thrown  him  into  a 
state  of  feverish  excitement.  He  found  it  very  difficult  to 
sleep,  and  his  slumber  was  broken  by  dreams  which  may 
have  been  omens  of  the  future.  At  ten  o'clock  next  morn- 
ing, he  was  disturbed  by  the  rocking  of  the  tower,  and  a 
frightful  noise  which  seemed  to  be  coming  from  without. 
Terrified,  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  thought  the  end  of  the 
world  must  have  come.  Then  he  fancied  himself  in  prison, 
and  it  was  some  time  before  he  recognised  the  sound  of  the 
great  bell  which  forty  peasants  had  set  swinging  in  honour 
of  the  great  San  Giovita.  Ten  would  have  done  it  just  as 
well. 

Fabrizio  looked  about  for  a  place  whence  he  might  look 
on  without  being  seen.  He  observed  that  from  that  great 
height  he  could  look  all  over  his  father's  gardens,  and 
even  into  the  inner  courtyard  of  his  house.  He  had  for- 
gotten it.  The  thought  of  his  father,  now  nearing  the  close 
of  his  life,  changed  all  his  feelings  toward  him.  He  could 
even  distinguish  the  sparrows  hopping  about  in  search  of 
a  few  crumbs  on  the  balcony  of  the  great  dining-room. 

"  They  are  the  descendants  of  those  I  once  tamed,"  he 
thought.  This  balcony,  like  all  the  others,  was  adorned 
with  numerous  orange  trees,  set  in  earthenware  vases,  large 
and  small.  The  sight  of  them  touched  him.  There  was 
an  air  of  great  dignity  about  this  inner  courtyard,  thus 
adorned,  with  its  sharply  cut  shadows  standing  out  against 
the  brilliant  sunshine. 

The  thought  of  his  father's  failing  health  came  back  to 
him.  "  It  really  is  very  odd ! "  he  said  to  himself.  "  My 
father  is  only  thirty-five  years  older  than  I  am — ^thirty-five 

171 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  twenty-three  only  make  fifty-eight."  The  eyes  which 
were  gazing  at  the  windows  of  the  room  occupied  by  the 
harsh  parent,  whom  he  had  never  loved,  brimmed  over  with 
tears.  He  shuddered,  and  a  sudden  chill  ran  through  his 
veins  when  he  fancied  he  recognised  his  father  crossing  an 
orange-covered  terrace  on  the  level  of  his  chamber.  But 
it  was  only  a  man-servant.  Just  beneath  the  tower  a  num- 
ber of  young  girls  in  white  dresses,  and  divided  into  several 
groups,  were  busily  outlining  patterns  in  red,  blue,  and 
yellow  flowers  on  the  soil  of  the  streets  along  which  the 
procession  was  to  pass.  But  there  was  another  sight  which 
appealed  yet  more  strongly  to  Fabrizio's  soul.  From  his 
tower  he  could  look  over  the  two  arms  of  the  lake  for  a 
distance  of  several  leagues,  and  this  magnificent  prospect 
soon  made  him  forget  every  other  sight.  It  stirred  the  most 
lofty  feelings  in  his  breast.  All  his  childish  memories 
crowded  on  his  brain;  and  that  day  spent  prisoned  in  a 
church  tower  was  perhaps  one  of  the  happiest  in  his  life. 

His  felicity  carried  him  to  a  frame  of  thought  consider- 
ably higher  than  was  as  a  rule  natural  to  him.  Young  as  he 
was,  he  pondered  over  the  events  of  his  past  life  as  though 
he  had  already  reached  its  close.  "  I  must  acknowledge  that 
never,  since  I  came  to  Parma,"  he  mused  at  last,  after  sev- 
eral hours  of  the  most  delightful  reverie,  "  have  I  known 
calm  and  perfect  delight  such  as  I  used  to  feel  at  Naples, 
when  I  galloped  along  the  roads  of  Vomero,  or  wandered 
on  the  coasts  of  Misena. 

"  All  the  complicated  interests  of  that  spiteful  little  court 
have  made  me  spiteful,  too.  ...  I  find  no  pleasure  in  hat- 
ing anybody;  I  even  think  it  would  be  but  a  poor  delight 
to  me  to  see  my  enemies  humiliated,  if  I  had  any.  But, 
hold !  "  he  cried ;  "  I  have  an  enemy — Giletti !  Now,  it  is 
curious,"  he  went  on,  "  that  my  pleasure  at  the  idea  of  seeing 
that  ugly  fellow  going  to  the  devil  should  have  outlived 
the  very  slight  fancy  I  had  for  little  Marietta.  .  .  .  She  is 

not  to  be  compared  to  the  Duchess  d'A ,  to  whom  I  was 

obliged  to  make  love,  at  Naples,  because  I  had  told  her  I 
had  fallen  in  love  with  her.  Heavens,  how  bored  I  used 
to  be  during  those  long  hours  of  intimacy  with  which  the 

172 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

fair  duchess  used  to  honour  me!  I  never  felt  anything  of 
that  sort  in  the  shabby  room — bedroom  and  kitchen,  too— 
in  which  little  Marietta  received  me  twice,  and  for  two 
minutes  each  time! 

"  And  heavens,  again !  What  do  those  people  eat  ?  It 
was  pitiful !  I  ought  to  have  given  her  mamaccia  a  pen- 
sion of  three  beefsteaks  a  day.  .  .  .  That  little  Marietta," 
he  added,  "  distracted  me  from  the  wicked  thoughts  with 
which  the  neighbourhood  of  the  court  had  irtspired  me. 

"  Perhaps  I  should  have  done  better  to  take  up  with  the 
*  cafe  life,'  as  the  duchess  calls  it.  She  seemed  rather  to 
incline  to  it,  and  she  is  much  cleverer  than  I  am.  Thanks 
to  her  bounty — or  even  with  this  income  of  four  thousand 
francs  a  year,  and  the  interest  of  the  forty  thousand  francs 
invested  at  Lyons,  which  my  mother  intends  for  me — I 
should  always  have  been  able  to  keep  a  horse  and  to  spend 
a  few  crowns  on  making  excavations  and  forming  a  collec- 
tion. As  I  am  apparently  never  destined  to  know  what  love 
is,  my  greatest  pleasures  will  always  lie  in  that  direction. 
I  should  like,  before  I  die,  to  go  back  once  to  the  battle- 
field of  Waterloo,  and  try  to  recognise  the  meadow  where 
I  was  lifted  from  my  horse  in  such  comical  fashion,  and 
left  sitting  on  the  grass.  Once  that  pilgrimage  had  been 
performed,  I  would  often  come  back  to  this  noble  lake. 
There  can  be  nothing  so  beautiful  in  the  whole  world — 
to  my  heart,  at  all  events!  Why  should  I  wander  so  far 
away  in  search  of  happiness?  It  lies  here,  under  my  very 
eyes. 

"  Ah,"  said  Fabrizio  again,  "  but  there  is  a  difficulty — 
the  police  forbid  my  presence  near  the  Lake  of  Como.  But 
I  am  younger  than  the  people  who  direct  the  police.    Here," 

he  added  with  a  laugh,  "  I  shall  find  no  Duchess  d'A , 

but  I  should  have  one  of  the  little  girls  who  are  scattering 
flowers  down  yonder,  and  I  am  sure  I  should  love  her 
just  as  much.  Even  in  love  matters,  hypocrisy  freezes  me, 
and  our  fine  ladies  aim  at  too  much  sublimity  in  their 
eflfects.  Napoleon  has  given  them  notions  of  propriety  and 
constancy. 

"  The  devil !  "  he  exclaimed  a  moment  later,  pulling  his 

173 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

head  in  suddenly,  as  if  afraid  he  might  be  recognised,  in 
spite  of  the  shadow  cast  by  the  huge  wooden  shutters  which 
kept  the  rain  off  the  bells.  "  Here  come  the  gendarmes  in 
all  their  splendour !  "  Ten  gendarmes,  in  fact,  four  of  whom 
were  non-commissioned  officers,  had  appeared  at  the  head 
of  the  principal  street  of  the  village.  The  sergeant  posted 
them  a  hundred  paces  apart,  along  the  line  the  procession 
was  to  follow.  "  Everybody  here  knows  me.  If  I  am  seen, 
I  shall  be  carried  at  one  bound  from  the  shores  of  Como 
to  the  Spielberg,  where  I  shall  have  a  hundred-and-ten- 
pound  weight  of  fetters  fastened  to  each  of  my  legs.  And 
what  a  grief  for  the  duchess ! " 

It  was  two  or  three  minutes  before  Fabrizio  was  able  to 
realize  that,  in  the  first  place,  he  was  eighty  feet  above  other 
people's  heads,  that  the  spot  where  he  stood  was  compara- 
tively dark,  that  anybody  who  might  glance  upward  would 
be  blinded  by  the  blazing  sun,  and,  last  of  all,  that  every  eye 
was  staring  wide  about  the  village  streets,  the  houses 
of  which  had  been  freshly  whitewashed  in  honour  of  the 
feast  of  San  Giovita.  In  spite  of  the  cogency  of  these  argu- 
ments, Fabrizio's  Italian  soul  would  have  been  incapable  of 
any  further  enjoyment  if  he  had  not  interposed  a  rag  of  old 
sacking,  which  he  nailed  up  in  the  window,  between  himself 
and  the  gendarmes,  making  two  holes  in  it  so  that  he  might 
be  able  to  look  out. 

The  bells  had  been  crashing  out  for  ten  minutes,  the 
procession  was  passing  out  of  the  church,  the  ntortaretti 
were  exploding  loudly.  Fabrizio  turned  his  head  and 
looked  at  the  little  esplanade,  surrounded  by  a  parapet,  on 
which  his  childish  life  had  so  often  been  endangered  by  the 
ntortaretti,  fired  off  close  to  his  legs,  because  of  which  his 
mother  always  insisted  on  keeping  him  beside  her,  on  feast 
days. 

These  ntortaretti  (or  little  mortars),  it  should  be  ex- 
plained, are  nothing  but  g^n  barrels  sawn  off  in  lengths 
of  about  four  inches.  It  is  for  this  purpose  that  the  peas- 
ants so  greedily  collect  the  musket  barrels  which  Euro- 
pean policy,  since  the  year  1796,  has  sown  broadcast  over 
the  plains  of  Lombardy.    When  these  little  tubes  are  cut 

'74 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

into  four-inch  lengths,  they  are  loaded  up  to  the  very  muzzle, 
set  on  the  ground  in  a  vertical  position,  and  a  train  of  pow- 
der is  laid  from  one  to  the  other ;  they  are  ranged  in  three 
lines,  like  a  battalion,  to  the  number  of  some  two  or  three 
hundred,  in  some  clear  space  near  the  line  of  procession. 
When  the  Holy  Sacrament  approaches,  the  train  of  powder 
is  lighted,  and  then  begins  a  sharp,  dropping  fire  of  the 
most  irregular  and  ridiculous  description,  which  sends  all 
the  women  wild  with  delight.  Nothing  more  cheery  can 
be  imagined  than  the  noise  of  these  mortaretti,  as  heard  from 
a  distance  across  the  lake,  and  softened  by  the  rocking  of  the 
waters.  The  curious  rattle  which  had  so  often  been  the 
delight  of  his  childhood  put  the  overserious  notions  which 
had  assailed  our  hero  to  flight.  He  fetched  the  Father's 
big  astronomical  .telescope,  and  was  able  to  recognise  most 
of  the  men  and  women  taking  part  in  the  procession.  Many 
charming  little  girls,  whom  Fabrizio  had  left  behind  him  as 
slips  of  eleven  and  twelve  years  old,  had  now  grown  into 
magnificent-looking  women,  in  all  the  flower  of  the  most 
healthy  youth.  The  sight  of  them  brought  back  our  hero's 
courage,  and  for  the  sake  of  exchanging  a  word  with  them, 
he  would  have  braved  the  gendarmes  willingly. 

When  the  procession  had  passed,  and  re-entered  the 
church  by  a  side  door,  which  was  out  of  Fabrizio's  range  of 
vision,  the  heat  at  the  top  of  the  tower  soon  became  in- 
tense. The  villagers  returned  to  their  homes,  and  deep 
silence  fell  over  the  place.  Several  boats  filled  with  peasants 
departed  to  Bellagio,  Menaggio,  and  other  villages  on  the 
shores  of  the  lake.  Fabrizio  could  distinguish  the  sound 
of  every  stroke  of  the  oars.  This  detail,  simple  as  it  was, 
threw  him  into  a  perfect  ecstasy ;  his  delight  at  that  moment 
was  built  up  on  all  the  unhappiness  and  discomfort  which 
the  complicated  life  of  courts  had  inflicted  upon  him.  What 
a  pleasure  would  it  have  been,  at  that  moment,  to  row  a 
league's  distance  over  that  beautiful  calm  lake,  in  which 
the  depths  of  the  heavens  were  so  faithfully  reflected !  He 
heard  somebody  open  the  door  at  the  bottom  of  the  tower — 
Father  Blanes's  old  servant,  laden  with  a  big  basket ;  it  was 
as  much  as  he  could  do  to  refrain  from  going  to  speak  to 

175 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

her.  "  She  has  almost  as  much  affection  for  me  as  her 
master  has,"  he  thought.  "  And  I  am  going  away  at  nine 
o'clock  to-night.  Would  she  not  keep  silence,  as  she  would 
swear  to  me  to  do,  even  for  those  few  hours?  But,"  said 
Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  I  should  displease  my  friend ;  I  might 
get  him  into  trouble  with  the  gendarmes."  And  he  let 
Ghita  depart  without  saying  a  word  to  her.  He  made  an 
excellent  dinner,  and  then  lay  down  to  sleep  for  a  few 
minutes.  He  did  not  wake  till  half-past  eight  at  night. 
Father  Blanes  was  shaking  his  arm,  and  it  had  grown  quite 
dark. 

Blanes  was  exceedingly  weary;  he  looked  fifty  years 
older  than  on  the  preceding  night;  he  made  no  further 
reference  to  serious  matters.  Seating  himself  in  his  wooden 
chair,  "  Kiss  me,"  he  said  to  Fabrizio.  Several  times  over 
he  clasped  him  in  his  arms.  At  last  he  spoke :  "  Death, 
which  will  soon  end  this  long  life  of  mine,  will  not  be  so 
painful  as  this  separation.  I  have  a  purse  which  I  shall 
leave  in  Ghita's  care,  with  orders  to  use  its  contents  for 
her  own  need,  but  to  make  over  whatever  it  may  contain 
to  you,  if  you  should  ever  ask  her  for  it.  I  know  her ;  once 
I  have  given  her  this  command  she  is  capable,  in  her  desire 
to  save  for  you,  of  not  eating  meat  four  times  in  the  year, 
unless  you  give  her  explicit  orders  on  the  subject.  You 
may  be  reduced  to  penury  yourself,  and  then  your  old 
friend's  mite  may  be  of  service  to  you.  Expect  nothing 
but  vile  treatment  from  your  brother,  and  try  to  earn  money 
by  some  labour  that  will  make  you  useful  to  society.  I  fore- 
see strange  tempests;  fifty  years  hence,  perhaps,  no  idle 
man  will  be  allowed  to  live.  Your  mother  and  your  aunt 
may   fail    you;   your   sisters    must    obey   their   husbands' 

will "     Then  suddenly,  he  cried :  "  Go !     Go !     Fly !  " 

He  had  just  heard  a  little  noise  in  the  clock,  a  warning  that 
it  was  about  to  strike  ten.  He  would  not  even  give  Fabrizio 
time  for  a  farewell  embrace. 

"  Make  haste !  make  haste !  "  he  cried.  "  It  will  take  you 
at  least  a  minute  to  get  down  the  stairs.  Take  care  you  do 
not  fall ;  that  would  be  a  terrible  omen."  Fabrizio  rushed 
down  the  stairs,  and  once  out  on  the  square,  he  began  to  run. 

176 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

He  had  hardly  reached  his  father's  castle  before  the  dock 
struck  ten. 

Every  stroke  echoed  in  his  breast,  and  filled  him  with 
a  strange  sense  of  agitation.  He  paused  to  reflect,  or 
rather  to  give  rein  to  the  passionate  feelings  inspired  by  the 
contemplation  of  the  majestic  edifice  at  which  he  had  looked 
so  coolly  only  the  night  before.  His  reverie  was  disturbed 
by  human  footsteps;  he  looked  up,  and  saw  himself  sur- 
rounded by  four  gendarmes.  He  had  two  excellent  pistols, 
the  priming  of  which  he  had  renewed  during  his  dinner; 
the  click  he  made  as  he  cocked  them  attracted  one  of  the 
gendarme's  notice,  and  very  nearly  brought  about  his  arrest. 
He  recognised  his  danger,  and  thought  of  firing  at  once. 
He  would  have  been  within  his  rights,  for  it  was  his  only 
chance  of  resisting  four  armed  men.  Fortunately  for  him, 
the  gendarmes,  who  were  going  round  to  clear  the  wine- 
shops, had  not  treated  the  civilities  offered  them  in  several 
of  these  hospitable  meeting-places  with  absolute  indiffer- 
ence. They  were  not  sufficiently  quick  in  making  up  their 
minds  to  do  their  duty.  Fabrizio  fled  at  the  top  of  his 
speed.  The  gendarmes  ran  a  few  steps  after  him,  shouting, 
"  Stop  1  stop !  "  Then  silence  fell  on  everything  once  more. 
Some  three  hundred  paces  off  Fabrizio  stopped  to  get  his 
breath.  "  The  noise  of  my  pistols  very  nearly  caused  my 
arrest.  It  would  have  served  me  right  if  the  duchess  had 
told  me — if  ever  I  had  been  allowed  to  look  into  her  beau- 
tiful eyes  ag^in — that  my  soul  delights  in  contemplating 
things  that  may  happen  ten  years  hence,  and  forgets  to  look 
at  those  which  are  actually  under  my  nose." 

Fabrizio  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  danger  he  had 
just  escaped.  He  hastened  his  steps,  but  soon  he  could 
not  restrain  himself  from  running,  which  was  not  over- 
prudent,  for  he  attracted  the  attention  of  several  peasants  on 
their  homeward  way.  Yet  he  could  not  prevail  upon  him- 
self to  stop  till  he  was  on  the  mountain,  over  a  league  from 
Grianta,  and  even  then  he  broke  into  a  cold  sweat,  when- 
ever he  thought  of  the  Spielberg. 

"  I've  been  in  a  pretty  fright !  "  said  he  to  himself,  and  at 
the  sound  of  the  word  he  felt  almost  inclined  to  be  ashamed. 

177 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  But  does  not  my  aunt  tell  me  that  the  thing  I  need  most 
is  to  learn  how  to  forgive  myself?  I  am  always  comparing 
myself  with  a  perfect  model,  which  can  have  no  real  exis- 
tence. So  be  it,  then.  I  will  forgive  myself  my  fright,  for, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  was  very  ready  to  defend  my  liberty, 
and  certainly  those  four  men  would  not  all  have  been  left 
to  take  me  to  prison.  What  I  am  doing  at  this  moment,"  he 
added,  "  is  not  soldierly.  Instead  of  rapidly  retiring  after 
having  fulfilled  my  object,  and  possibly  roused  my  enemy's 
suspicions,  I  am  indulging  a  whim  which  is  perhaps  more 
absurd  than  all  the  good  father's  predictions." 

And,  in  fact,  instead  of  returning  by  the  shortest  road, 
and  gaining  the  banks  of  the  Lago  Maggiore,  where  the 
boat  awaited  him,  he  was  making  a  huge  detour  for  the  pur- 
pose of  seeing  his  tree — my  readers  will  perhaps  recollect 
Fabrizio's  affection  for  a  chestnut  tree  planted  by  his 
mother  some  three-and-twenty  years  previously.  "  It 
would  be  worthy  of  my  brother,"  he  thought,  "  if  he  had 
had  that  tree  cut  down ;  but  such  creatures  as  he  have  no 
feeling  for  delicate  matters.  He  will  not  have  thought  of 
it,  and  besides,"  he  added  resolutely,  "  it  would  not  be  an 
evil  omen,"  Two  hours  later  there  was  consternation  in 
his  glance ;  mischievous  hands,  or  a  stormy  wind,  had 
broken  off  one  of  the  chief  branches  of  the  young  tree,  and 
it  was  hanging  withered.  With  the  help  of  his  dagger 
Fabrizio  cut  it  off  carefully,  and  closely  pared  the  wound, 
so  that  the  rain  might  not  enter  the  trunk.  Then,  though 
time  was  very  precious  to  him,  for  it  was  nearly  dawn,  he 
spent  a  good  hour  in  digging  up  the  ground  round  the 
beloved  tree.  When  all  these  follies  were  accomplished,  he 
rapidly  proceeded  on  his  way  toward  the  Lago  Maggiore. 
He  did  not  feel  depressed  on  the  whole ;  the  tree  was  doing 
well,  it  was  stronger  than  ever,  and  in  five  years  it  had 
almost  doubled  in  size.  The  broken  branch  was  a  mere 
accident,  of  no  consequence. 

Now  that  it  had  been  lopped  oflF,  the  tree  would  not 
suffer,  and  would  even  grow  the  taller,  as  its  limbs  divided 
at  a  greater  height. 

Before  Fabrizio  had  travelled  a  league,  a  brilliant  strip 

178 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

of  white  light  in  the  east  outlined  the  peaks  of  the  Resegon 
di  Lek,  a  well-known  mountain  in  that  country.  The  road 
he  was  now  following  was  full  of  peasants,  but  instead  of 
thinking  of  military  matters,  Fabrizio  was  filled  with  emo- 
tion by  the  sublime  or  touching  aspects  of  the  forest  round 
the  Lake  of  Como.  They  are  perhaps  the  most  lovely 
in  the  world.  I  do  not  mean  those  which  bring  in  the  great- 
est number  of  "  new  crowns,"  as  they  say  in  Switzerland, 
but  those  which  appeal  most  strongly  to  the  human  soul. 
For  a  man  in  Fabrizio's  position,  exposed  to  all  the  atten- 
tions of  the  gendarmes  of  Lombardy  and  Venetia,  it  was 
mere  childishness  to  listen  to  their  language.  At  last  he  said 
to  himself :  "  I  am  half  a  league  from  the  frontier.  I  shall 
meet  the  customs  officers  and  the  gendarmes  making  their 
round.  This  fine  cloth  coat  of  mine  will  rouse  their  sus- 
picions ;  they  will  ask  me  for  my  passport.  The  said  pass- 
port bears  a  name  doomed  to  a  prison,  written  in  fair  char- 
acters, and  so  I  find  myself  under  the  agreeable  necessity 
of  committing  murder.  If  the  gendarmes  walk  two  to- 
gether, as  they  generally  do,  I  dare  not  wait  till  one  of  them 
seizes  me  by  the  collar  before  I  fire ;  if  he  should  hold  me 
for  one  instant  before  he  falls,  I  shall  find  myself  at  the 
Spielberg." 

Fabrizio — filled  with  a  special  horror  at  the  idea  of  firing 
first,  and  possibly  on  an  old  soldier  who  had  served  under 
his  uncle,  Count  Pietranera — ran  to  hide  himself  in  the  hol- 
low trunk  of  a  huge  chestnut  tree.  He  was  putting  fresh 
caps  into  his  pistols  when  he  heard  a  man  coming  through 
the  wood,  singing,  as  he  came,  in  a  charming  voice,  a  delight- 
ful air  by  Mercadante,  then  fashionable  in  Italy. 

"  That's  a  good  omen !  "  said  Fabrizio  to  himself ;  he 
listened  attentively  to  the  melody,  and  the  sound  of  it  wiped 
out  the  little  touch  of  anger  which  had  begun  to  season  his 
arguments.  He  looked  carefully  up  and  down  the  high- 
road and  saw  nobody.  "  The  singer  will  come  up  some  side 
road,"  thought  he  to  himself.  Almost  at  that  very  moment 
he  saw  a  servant,  very  neatly  dressed  in  the  English  style, 
ride  slowly  up  the  road  on  a  hack,  leading  a  very  fine  blood- 
horse,  perhaps  a  trifle  too  thin. 

179 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Ah,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  if  I  had  reasoned  like 
Mosca,  who  is  perpetually  telling  me  that  the  risk  a  man 
runs  always  marks  the  ratio  of  his  rights  over  his  neighbour, 
I  should  crack  this  serving-man's  skull  with  a  pistol-shot, 
and  once  I  was  on  that  horse,  I  should  snap  my  fingers  at  all 
the  gendarmes  in  the  world.  Then,  as  soon  as  I  got  back 
to  Parma,  I  would  send  money  to  the  man  or  his  widow. 
But  that  would  be  an  abominable  action." 


CHAPTER  X 

Even  as  he  moralized,  Fabrizio  sprang  upon  the  high- 
road from  Lombardy  to  Switzerland,  which,  at  this  spot,  is 
quite  four  or  five  feet  below  the  level  of  the  forest.  "  If  my 
man  takes  fright,"  said  our  hero  to  himself,  "  he  will  start 
oflf  at  a  gallop,  and  I  shall  be  left  here,  looking  a  sorry 
fool."  By  this  time  he  was  not  more  than  ten  paces  from 
the  servant,  who  had  stopped  singing.  Fabrizio  read  in  his 
eyes  that  he  was  frightened ;  perhaps  he  was  going  to  turn 
his  horses  round.  Without  any  conscious  intention,  Fa- 
brizio made  a  bound,  and  seized  the  near  horse  by  the 
bridle. 

"  My  friend,"  said  he  to  the  serving-man,  "  I  am  not  a 
common  thief,  for  I  am  going  to  begin  by  giving  you  twenty 
francs ;  but  I  am  obliged  to  borrow  your  horse.  I  shall 
be  killed  if  I  do  not  clear  out  at  once.  The  four  brothers 
Riva,  those  great  hunters  whom  you  doubtless  know,  are 
on  my  heels.  They  have  just  caught  me  in  their  sister's 
bedroom.  I  jumped  out  of  the  window,  and  here  I  am. 
They  have  turned  out  into  the  forest,  with  their  hounds  and 
their  guns.  I  had  hidden  myself  in  that  big  hollow  chest- 
nut tree  because  I  saw  one  of  them  cross  the  road;  their 
hounds  will  soon  be  on  my  track.  I  am  going  to  get  on 
your  horse  and  gallop  a  league  beyond  Como;  thence  I 
shall  go  to  Milan,  to  cast  myself  at  the  viceroy's  feet.  If 
you  consent  with  a  good  grace,  I'll  leave  your  horse  at  the 
posting-house,  with  two  napoleons  for  yourself.  If  you 
make  the  slightest  difficulty  I  shall  kill  you  with  these  pis- 
tols. If,  when  I  am  once  oflF,  you  set  the  gendarmes  after 
me,  my  cousin,  the  brave  Count  Alari,  the  Emperor's 
equerry,  will  see  to  your  bones  being  broken  for  you." 

Fabrizio  invented  his  speech  as  he  delivered  it,  which 

i8i 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

he  did  in  the  most  gentle  manner.  "  For  the  rest,"  he  said, 
laughing,  "  my  name  is  no  secret.  I  am  the  Marchesino 
Ascanio  del  Dongo.  My  home  is  close  by,  at  Grianta. 
Now,  then,"  he  cried,  raising  his  voice,  "  let  the  horse 
go !  "  The  stupefied  servant  said  never  a  word.  Fabrizio 
put  up  the  pistol  he  had  held  in  his  left  hand,  laid  hold  of 
the  bridle,  which  the  man  had  dropped,  sprang  on  the 
horse,  and  cantered  off.  When  he  had  ridden  three  hundred 
paces  he  perceived  he  had  forgotten  to  give  him  the  twenty 
francs  he  had  promised.  He  pulled  up;  the  road  was  still 
empty,  except  for  the  servant,  who  was  galloping  after  him. 
He  waved  him  forward  with  his  handkerchief,  and  when  he 
was  within  fifty  paces  threw  a  handful  of  silver  coins  upon 
the  road,  and  started  ofif  again.  Looking  back  from  a  dis- 
tance, he  saw  the  servant  picking  up  the  silver.  "  Now,  that 
really  is  a  sensible  man,"  said  Fabrizio,  laughing ;  "  not  a 
useless  word  did  he  say."  He  rode  rapidly  southward, 
halted  at  a  lonely  house,  and  started  forth  again  a  few  hours 
later.  By  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  had  reached  the 
Lago  Maggiore.  He  soon  saw  his  boat,  standing  on  and 
oflf.  He  made  the  signal  agreed  on,  and  she  approached  the 
shore.  He  could  find  no  peasant  with  whom  he  might  leave 
the  horse,  so  he  turned  the  noble  creature  loose,  and  three 
hours  later,  he  was  at  Belgirate.  Once  in  a  friendly  country, 
he  took  some  repose.  He  was  full  of  joy,  for  he  had  been 
thoroughly  successful.  Dare  we  mention  the  true  cause 
of  his  delight?  His  tree  was  growing  splendidly,  and  his 
soul  had  been  refreshed  by  the  deep  emotion  he  had  felt  in 
Father  Blanes's  arms.  "  Does  he  really  believe,"  said  he 
to  himself,  "  in  all  the  predictions  he  has  made  to  me  ?  Or 
is  it  that  as  my  brother  has  given  me  the  reputation  of  a 
Jacobin,  a  man  who  knows  neither  truth  nor  law,  and  capa- 
ble of  any  crime,  he  simply  desired  to  induce  me  to  resist 
the  temptation  of  taking  the  life  of  some  villain  who  may 
do  me  an  evil  turn  ?  "  The  day  after  the  next,  Fabrizio  was 
at  Parma,  where  he  vastly  entertained  the  duchess  and  the 
count  by  relating  with  the  greatest  exactness,  as  was  his 
wont,  the  whole  story  of  his  journey. 

When  Fabrizio  arrived,  he  found  the  porter  and  all  the 

182 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

servants  at  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina  garbed  in  the  deepest 
mourning. 

"  Whose  loss  do  we  mourn  ?  "  he  inquired  of  the  duchess. 

"  That  excellent  man  who  was  known  as  my  husband  has 
just  died  at  Baden.  He  has  left  me  the  palace — that  was 
a  settled  thing;  but,  as  a  proof  of  his  regard,  he  has  added 
a  legacy  of  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  this  places 
me  in  a  serious  difficulty.  I  will  not  give  it  up  for  the 
benefit  of  his  niece,  the  Marchesa  Raversi,  who  plays  me 
the  vilest  of  tricks  every  day  of  her  life.  You,  who  under- 
stand art,  must  really  find  me  some  good  sculptor,  and  I 
will  put  up  a  monument  to  the  duke  which  shall  cost  three 
hundred  thousand  francs."  The  count  began  to  tell  stories 
about  the  Raversi. 

"  In  vain  have  I  striven  to  soften  her  by  kindness,"  said 
the  duchess.  "  As  for  the  duke's  nephews,  I  have  had  them 
all  made  colonels  or  generals,  and  in  return,  never  a  month 
passes  without  their  sending  me  some  abominable  anony- 
mous letter.  I  have  been  obliged  to  hire  a  secretary  to  read 
all  my  letters  of  that  description." 

"  And  their  anonymous  letters  are  the  least  of  all  their 
sins,"  continued  Count  Mosca.  "  They  carry  on  a  regular 
manufacture  of  vile  accusations.  Twenty  times  over  I  ought 
to  have  had  the  whole  set  brought  before  the  courts,  and 
your  Excellency "  (turning  to  Fabrizio)  "  will  guess 
whether  my  worthy  judges  would  have  condemned  them 
or  not." 

"  Well,  that's  what  spoils  all  the  rest,  to  me,"  replied 
Fabrizio,  with  that  artlessness  that  sounded  so  comical  at 
court.  "  I  would  much  rather  see  them  sentenced  by  magis- 
trates who  would  judge  them  according  to  their  own  con- 
sciences." 

"  If  you,  who  travel  to  improve  your  mind,  would  give 
me  the  addresses  of  a  few  such  magistrates,  you  would  do  me 
a  real  kindness.  I  would  write  to  them  before  I  went  to 
bed  to-night." 

"  If  I  were  a  minister  this  lack  of  upright  judges  would 
wound  my  vanity." 

"  But  it  strikes  me,"  rejoined  the  count,  "  that  your  Ex- 

183 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

cellency,  who  is  so  fond  of  the  French,  and  once  upon  a 
time  even  lent  them  the  help  of  your  invincible  arm,  is  for- 
getting one  of  their  great  maxims,  '  It  is  better  to  kill  the 
devil  than  that  the  devil  should  kill  you  ? '  I  should  very 
much  like  to  see  how  anybody  could  govern  these  eager 
beings  who  read  the  history  of  the  French  Revolution  all  day 
long,  with  judges  who  would  acquit  the  persons  I  accused. 
They  would  end  by  acquitting  rascals  whose  guilt  was  per- 
fectly evident,  and  every  man  of  them  would  think  himself 
a  Brutus.  But  I  have  a  bone  to  pick  with  you.  Does  not 
your  sensitive  soul  feel  some  remorse  concerning  that  fine 
horse,  rather  too  lean,  which  you  have  just  turned  loose 
on  the  shores  of  the  Maggiore  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  intend,"  said  Fabrizio  very  gravely,  "  to 
send  the  owner  of  the  horse  whatever  sum  may  be  necessary 
to  pay  him  the  expenses  of  advertising,  and  any  others  he 
may  have  incurred  in  recovering  the  beast  from  the  peasants 
who  must  have  found  it.  I  propose  to  read  the  Milanese 
newspaper  carefully,  so  as  to  find  any  advertisement  touch- 
ing a  strayed  horse.  I  am  quite  familiar  with  the  appearance 
of  this  one." 

"  He  really  is  primitive,"  said  the  count  to  the  duchess. 
"  And  what  would  have  become  of  your  Excellency,"  he 
continued,  laughing,  "  if,  while  you  were  galloping  along 
on  that  horse's  back,  he  had  happened  to  stumble?  You 
would  have  found  yourself  at  the  Spielberg,  my  dear  young 
nephew,  and  with  all  my  credit,  I  should  barely  have  con- 
trived to  get  some  thirty  pounds  struck  oft  the  weight  of  the 
shackles  on  each  of  your  legs.  In  that  delightful  retreat  you 
would  have  spent  quite  ten  years ;  your  legs  would  possibly 
have  swelled  and  mortified.  Then  they  would  have  been 
neatly  cut  oflf  for  you." 

"  Ah,  for  pity's  sake,  don't  carry  the  wretched  story  any 
further,"  broke  in  the  duchess  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  He 
is  back,  and  safe " 

"  And  I  am  even  more  glad  of  it  than  you,  you  may  be 
sure  of  that,"  responded  the  minister  very  gravely.  "  But 
pray,  since  this  boy  was  set  on  going  into  Lombardy,  why 
did  he  not  ask  me  to  get  him  a  passport  in  a  fitting  name? 

184 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  moment  I  heard  of  his  arrest  I  should  have  hurried  off 
to  Milan,  and  my  friends  there  would  have  been  willing 
enough  to  close  their  eyes  and  pretend  their  police  had 
taken  up  one  of  the  Prince  of  Parma's  subjects.  The  story 
of  your  trip  is  entertaining  and  amusing  enough,  I  am  quite 
ready  to  admit  that,"  the  count  continued,  and  his  tone 
grew  less  gloomy.  "  Your  leap  on  to  the  high-road  de- 
cidedly enchants  me.  But  between  ourselves,  since  that 
serving-man  held  your  life  in  his  hands,  you  had  a  right  to 
deprive  him  of  his.  We  propose  to  raise  your  Excellency  to 
a  brilliant  position — at  least,  such  are  the  orders  this  lady 
gives  me,  and  I  do  not  think  my  bitterest  enemies  can  accuse 
me  of  ever  having  neglected  her  commands.  What  a  heart- 
break it  would  have  been  to  her  if  that  lean  horse  of  yours 
had  happened  to  make  a  false  step  while  you  were  riding 
a  steeple-chase  upon  his  back !  It  would  almost  have  been 
better  if  he  had  broken  your  neck  outright." 

"  You  are  very  tragic  to-night,  dear  friend,"  said  the 
duchess,  quite  overcome. 

"  Because  tragic  events  are  happening  all  around  us," 
replied  the  count,  and  he,  too,  was  moved.  "  This  is  not 
France,  where  ever):thing  ends  with  a  song  or  a  sentence 
of  imprisonment,  and  I  really  am  wrong  to  laugh  when  I 
talk  to  you  of  such  matters.  Well,  nephew  mine,  granting 
that  I  find  a  chance  some  day  of  making  you  a  bishop — 
for,  frankly,  I  can  not  begin  with  making  you  Archbishop 
of  Parma,  as  the  duchess  here  would  very  reasonably  have 
me  do.  Supposing  you  were  settled  in  your  bishopric,  and 
far  from  the  sound  of  our  wise  counsels ;  tell  us  what  your 
policy  would  be." 

"  I  would  kill  the  devil  sooner  than  let  him  kill  me,  as 
my  friends  the  French  so  sensibly  say,"  answered  Fabrizio, 
with  shining  eyes.  "  I  would  hold  the  position  you  gave  me 
by  every  means,  even  with  my  pistols.  I  have  read  the 
story  of  our  ancestor,  who  built  Grianta,  in  the  Del  Dongo 
Genealogy.  Toward  the  end  of  his  life  his  good  friend 
Galeazzo,  Duke  of  Milan,  sent  him  to  inspect  a  fortified 
castle  on  our  lake.  There  was  some  fear  of  a  fresh  invasion 
by  the  Swiss.    '  I  really  must  send  a  civil  word  to  the  com- 

18S 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

mandant  of  the  fortress/  said  the  duke,  just  as  he  was  dis- 
missing him.  He  wrote  two  Hues,  and  gave  him  the  letter ; 
then  he  took  it  back.  '  It  will  be  more  courteous  if  I  seal 
it/  said  the  prince.  Vespasiano  del  Dongo  departed.  But 
as  he  was  sailing  over  the  lake  he  remembered  an  old  Greek 
story,  for  he  was  a  learned  man.  He  opened  his  good 
master's  letter,  and  found  it  was  an  order  to  the  command- 
ant of  the  fortress  to  put  him  to  death  the  moment  he  ar- 
rived. So  absorbed  had  Sforza  been  in  his  effort  to  make 
the  deception  he  had  been  playing  on  our  ancestor  life-like, 
that  he  had  left  a  considerable  space  between  the  last  line  of 
his  note  and  his  signature.  Vespasiano  del  Dongo  inserted 
an  order  to  recognise  him  as  governor-general  of  all  the 
lake  castles,  in  the  blank  space,  and  tore  the  upper  part  of 
the  letter  off.  When  he  had  reached  the  fortress,  and  his 
authority  had  been  duly  acknowledged,  he  threw  the  com- 
mandant down  a  well,  declared  war  on  Sforza,  and,  after 
a  few  years,  exchanged  his  strong  castle  for  the  huge  estates 
which  have  enriched  every  branch  of  our  family,  and  which 
will  one  day  benefit  me  to  the  extent  of  four  thousand  francs 
a  year." 

"  You  talk  like  an  academician !  "  cried  the  count  laugh- 
ingly. "  You  have  told  the  story  of  a  splendid  prank.  But 
it  is  not  once  in  ten  years  that  the  delightful  opportunity 
for  doing  such  startling  things  presents  itself.  A  man  who 
may  be  stupid  at  times,  but  is  watchful  and  prudent  always, 
may  often  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  outwitting  men  of  imagina- 
tion. It  was  a  freak  of  the  imagination  that  led  Napoleon 
to  put  himself  into  the  hands  of  the  prudent  John  Bull,  in- 
stead of  trying  to  escape  to  America.  John  Bull  sat  in  his 
counting-house,  and  laughed  at  the  Emperor's  letter  and 
his  reference  to  Themistocles.  The  mean  Sancho  Panzas  of 
this  world  will  always  triumph  over  the  noble-hearted  Don 
Quixotes.  If  you  will  consent  not  to  do  anything  extraordi- 
nary, I  don't  doubt  you  may  be  a  highly  respected,  if  not 
a  highly  respectable,  bishop.  Nevertheless,  I  hold  to  my 
previous  observation.  In  this  matter  of  the  horse  your 
Excellency  behaved  very  foolishly.  You  have  been  within 
an  ace  of  imprisonment  for  life." 

1 86 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Fabrizio  shuddered  at  the  words.  He  sat  on,  plunged  in 
a  deep  astonishment.  "  Was  that  the  imprisonment  which 
threatens  me  ?  "  he  mused.  "  Is  that  the  crime  I  was  not 
to  commit  ?  "  Father  Blanes's  predictions,  the  prophetic 
value  of  which  he  had  despised,  began  to  assume  all  the  im- 
portance of  real  omens  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well,"  cried  the  duchess,  quite  surprised,  "  what  is 
the  matter  with  you?  The  count  has  cast  you  into  a  very 
gloomy  reverie." 

"  The  light  of  a  new  truth  has  fallen  upon  my  mind,  and 
instead  of  rebelling  against  it,  I  am  adopting  it.  It  is  quite 
true.  I  have  been  very  near  a  prison  that  never  would  have 
opened  its  doors  again.  But  the  servant  lad  looked  so 
handsome  in  his  English  livery  it  would  have  been  a  sin  to 
kill  him." 

The  count  was  delighted  with  his  air  of  youthful  wisdom. 

"  He  is  satisfactory  in  every  way,"  he  said,  looking  at 
the  duchess.  "  I  must  tell  you,  my  boy,  that  you  have  made 
a  conquest,  and  perhaps  the  most  desirable  one  you  could 
possibly  have  made." 

"  Ha ! "  thought  Fabrizio,  "  now  I  shall  hear  some  jest 
about  little  Marietta."  He  was  mistaken.  The  count  went 
on :  "  Your  evangelic  simplicity  has  won  the  heart  of  our 
venerable  archbishop.  Father  Landriani.  One  of  these  days 
you  will  be  made  a  grand  vicar,  and  the  beauty  of  the  joke 
is  that  the  three  present  grand  vicars,  all  of  them  men  of 
parts  and  hard-working,  and  two  of  them,  I  believe,  grand 
vicars  before  you  were  born,  are  about  to  send  a  fine  letter 
to  their  archbishop,  begging  you  may  take  rank  above  them 
all.  These  gentlemen  base  this  request  on  your  virtuous 
qualities,  in  the  first  place,  and  in  the  second,  on  the  fact 
that  you  are  great-nephew  to  the  famous  Archbishop 
Ascanio  del  Dongo.  When  I  heard  of  the  respect  your 
virtues  had  inspired,  I  instantly  promoted  the  senior  grand 
vicar's  nephew  to  a  captaincy.  He  had  remained  a  lieu- 
tenant ever  since  he  had  served  at  the  siege  of  Tarragona, 
under  Marshal  Suchet." 

"  Go  at  once,  just  as  you  are,  in  your  travelling  dress, 
and  pay  an  affectionate  call  on  your  archbishop,"  exclaimed 

187 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  duchess.  "  Tell  him  all  about  your  sister's  marriage. 
When  he  knows  she  is  going  to  be  a  duchess  he  will  think 
you  more  apostolic  than  ever.  Of  course,  you  will  forget 
everything  the  count  has  just  confided  to  you  about  your 
approaching  appointment." 

Fabrizio  hurried  off  to  the  archiepiscopal  palace.  His 
behaviour  there  was  both  modest  and  simple.  This  was 
a  tone  he  could  assume  only  too  easily.  For  him  the  effort 
was  when  he  had  to  play  the  nobleman.  While  he  was  lis- 
tening to  Monsignore  Landriani's  somewhat  lengthy  dis- 
sertations he  kept  saying  to  himself,  "  Ought  I  to  have  fired 
my  pistol  at  the  man-servant  who  was  leading  the  lean 
horse  ?  "  His  reason  replied  in  the  affirmative.  But  he 
could  not  reconcile  his  heart  to  the  thought  of  that  hand- 
some young  fellow  dropping  disfigured  from  his  saddle. 

"  That  prison  which  would  have  swallowed  me  up  if 
the  horse  had  stumbled — was  it  the  prison  with  which  so 
many  omens  threaten  me  ?  " 

The  question  was  of  sovereign  importance  to  him.  And 
the  archbishop  was  enchanted  with  his  air  of  deep  attention. 


CHAPTER  XI 

When  Fabrizio  left  the  archiepiscopal  palace  he  hurried 
off  to  Marietta's  dwelling.  In  the  distance  he  heard  Giletti's 
rough  voice.  He  had  sent  out  for  wine,  and  was  carousing 
with  his  friends  the  prompter  and  the  candle  snuffer.  The 
mamaccia,  who  performed  the  functions  of  a  mother  to 
Marietta,  was  the  only  person  who  answered  his  signal. 

"  Things  have  happened  while  you  have  been  away,"  she 
cried.  "  Two  or  three  of  our  actors  have  been  accused  of 
having  held  an  orgy  in  honour  of  the  great  Napoleon's 
birthday,  and  our  unlucky  company  has  been  given  the  name 
of  Jacobin.  So  we  have  been  ordered  to  clear  out  of  the 
dominion  of  Parma,  and,  Evriva  Napoleone!  But  the  Prime 
Minister  is  supposed  to  have  paid  our  reckoning.  Giletti 
certainly  has  money  in  his  pocket.  I  don't  know  how  much, 
but  I  have  seen  him  with  a  handful  of  crown  pieces.  The 
manager  has  given  Marietta  five  crowns  for  her  travelling 
expenses  to  Mantua  and  Venice,  and  one  for  mine.  She 
is  still  very  much  in  love  with  you,  but  she  is  afraid  of 
Giletti.  Three  days  ago,  at  her  last  performance,  he  really 
would  have  killed  her.  He  boxed  her  ears  soundly  twice 
over,  and,  what  is  abominable,  he  tore  her  blue  shawl.  If 
you  would  give  her  a  blue  shawl  it  would  be  very  good- 
natured  of  you,  and  we  would  say  we  had  won  it  in  the  lot- 
tery. The  drum  master  of  the  carabineers  is  holding  a  com- 
petition to-morrow — you  will  see  the  hour  advertised  at 
every  street  corner.  Come  and  see  us  then.  If  Giletti  goes 
to  the  match,  and  we  can  hope  he  will  stay  away  for  any 
time,  I  will  be  at  the  window,  and  will  beckon  you  to  come 
up.  Try  to  bring  us  something  very  pretty.  And  Marietta 
dotes  upon  you." 

As  he  descended  the  winding  stairs  that  led  from  the  vile 

189 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

garret,  Fabrizio's  soul  was  filled  with  compunction.  "  I  am 
not  a  bit  altered,"  he  thought.  "  All  those  fine  resolutions 
I  made  on  the  shores  of  the  lake,  when  I  looked  at  life  with 
so  much  philosophy,  have  flown  away.  I  was  not  in  my 
normal  condition  then.  It  was  all  a  dream,  which  disap- 
pears when  I  have  to  face  stern  realities.  This  would  be 
the  moment  for  action,"  he  went  on,  as  he  re-entered  the 
Sanseverina  Palace  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  But  in 
vain  did  he  search  his  heart  for  that  noble  sincerity  which 
had  seemed  so  easy  of  attainment  during  the  night  he  had 
spent  on  the  shores  of  Como.  "  I  shall  displease  the  person 
I  love  best  in  the  world.  If  I  speak,  I  shall  look  like  an 
inferior  play-actor.  I  really  never  am  worth  anything,  ex- 
cept in  certain  moments  of  excitement." 

"  The  count  is  wonderfully  good  to  me,"  said  he  to  the 
duchess,  after  he  had  given  her  an  account  of  his  visit  to  the 
archbishop.  "  I  value  his  kindness  all  the  more  highly  be- 
cause I  fancy  I  notice  that  he  does  not  particularly  care 
about  me.  Therefore  I  must  be  all  the  more  correct  in  my 
behaviour  to  him.  I  know  he  has  excavations  at  Sanguigna 
in  which  he  still  delights — ^judging,  at  least,  by  his  expedi- 
tion the  day  before  yesterday,  galloping  twelve  leagues  to 
spend  two  hours  with  his  workmen.  He  is  afraid  that  if 
they  find  fragments  of  statuary  in  the  antique  temple,  the 
foundations  of  which  he  has  just  laid  bare,  they  may  steal 
them.  I  should  like  to  offer  to  go  and  spend  thirty-six 
hours  at  Sanguigna.  I  am  to  see  the  archbishop  to-morrow, 
about  five  o'clock.  I  could  start  in  the  evening,  and  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  cool  hours  of  the  night  for  my  ride." 

The  duchess  made  no  answer  at  first.  Presently  she  said 
to  him  in  a  very  tender  voice  :  "  It  looks  as  if  you  were  seek- 
ing pretexts  for  getting  away  from  me ;  you  are  hardly  back 
from  Belgirate,  and  you  find  out  a  reason  for  starting  off 
again." 

"  Here's  a  fine  opportunity  for  me,"  thought  Fabrizio. 
"  But  I  was  a  little  mad  when  I  was  sitting  by  the  lake.  In 
my  passion  for  truthfulness  I  overlooked  the  fact  that  my 
compliment  winds  up  with  an  impertinence.  I  should  have 
to  say, '  I  regard  you  with  the  most  devoted  friendship,  etc., 

190 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

but  my  heart  is  not  capable  of  real  love.'  Is  not  that  tanta- 
mount to  saying :  '  I  see  you  are  in  love  with  me.  But  pray 
take  care!  I  can  not  return  it  to  you  in  kind.'  If  the 
duchess  has  any  passion  for  me,  she  will  be  vexed  at  my 
having  guessed  it.  If  her  feeling  for  me  is  one  of  mere 
friendship  she  will  be  disgusted  by  my  impudence,  and  such 
offences  are  never  forgiven." 

While  he  was  weighing  these  important  considerations 
Fabrizio  was  walking,  quite  unconsciously,  up  and  down  the 
room,  looking  grave  and  proud,  like  a  man  who  sees  mis- 
fortune hovering  within  ten  paces  of  him. 

The  duchess  gazed  at  him  with  admiration.  This  was 
not  the  child  she  had  known  from  his  birth,  the  nephew 
ever  ready  to  obey  her  commands.  This  was  a  serious  man 
— a  man  whose  love  would  be  an  exquisite  possession.  She 
rose  from  the  ottoman  on  which  she  had  been  sitting,  and 
threw  herself  passionately  into  his  arms. 

"  Are  you  bent  on  leaving  me  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  No,"  said  he,  looking  like  a  Roman  emperor,  "  but  I 
want  to  behave  well." 

The  phrase  was  susceptible  of  several  interpretations. 
Fabrizio  had  not  courage  to  go  farther,  and  run  the  risk 
of  wounding  the  adorable  woman  before  him.  He  was  too 
young,  too  easily  moved.  His  mind  did  not  suggest  any 
well-turned  expression  which  might  convey  his  meaning. 
In  a  fit  of  passion,  which  was  natural  enough,  and  in  spite 
of  his  reason,  he  clasped  the  charming  creature  in  his  arms 
and  rained  kisses  upon  her.  Just  at  that  moment  the  count's 
carriage  was  heard  in  the  courtyard,  and  almost  instantly 
he  entered  the  room.     He  looked  quite  aflFected. 

"  You  inspire  very  strange  devotions,"  said  he  to  Fa- 
brizio, who  was  almost  stunned  by  the  phrase.  "  This 
evening  the  archbishop  was  received  in  audience  by  the 
prince,  as  he  is  regfularly  every  Thursday.  The  prince 
has  just  informed  me  that  the  archbishop,  who  seemed 
greatly  agitated,  began  by  making  a  very  prosy  speech, 
evidently  learned  by  heart,  of  which  the  prince  could  make 
nothing  at  all.  Landriani  ended  by  saying  that  it  was  im- 
portant for  the  sake  of  the  Church  in  Parma  that  Monsi- 

191 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

gnore  Fabrizio  del  Dongo  should  be  appointed  his  chief 
grand  vicar,  and  afterward,  as  soon  as  he  had  reached  his 
five-and-twentieth  year,  his  coadjutor,  and  his  ultimate  suc- 
cessor. 

"  This  idea  alarmed  me,  I  confess,"  said  the  count,  "  It 
is  somewhat  precipitate,  and  I  was  afraid  it  might  throw  the 
prince  into  a  fit  of  ill-humour.  But  he  looked  at  me  and 
laughed,  and  said  to  me  in  French,  *  Ce  sont  Id,  vos  coups, 
monsieur! ' 

" '  I  will  take  my  oath  before  God  and  your  Highness,* 
I  cried  with  the  utmost  possible  fervour,  '  that  I  was  utterly 
ignorant  of  the  idea  of  the  "  future  succession." '  Then  I 
went  on  to  tell  the  real  truth,  as  we  talked  it  over  here  a 
few  hours  since,  and  I  added  impulsively  that  I  should  have 
considered  his  Highness  had  conferred  an  overwhelming 
favour  on  me  if  he  had  ultimately  granted  you  a  modest 
bishopric  to  begin  with.  The  prince  must  have  believed 
me,  for  it  pleased  him  to  be  gracious.  He  said  to  me  in 
the  simplest  possible  way :  '  This  is  an  official  affair  between 
me  and  the  archbishop.  You  have  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  it.  The  old  gentleman  has  sent  me  in  a  very  long  and 
tolerably  tiresome  report,  which  he  winds  up  with  a  formal 
proposal.  I  replied  that  the  individual  was  still  very  young, 
and  more  especially  a  very  new  arrival  at  my  court;  that 
I  should  almost  look  as  if  I  were  honouring  a  letter  of 
credit  drawn  on  me  by  the  Emperor  if  I  bestowed  the  re- 
version of  so  high  a  dignity  on  the  son  of  one  of  the  great 
officials  of  his  Lombardo-Venetian  kingdom.  The  arch- 
bishop protested  there  had  been  no  pressure  of  any  such 
kind.  It  was  a  pretty  piece  of  folly  to  say  that  to  me.  It 
surprised  me  in  a  man  who  is  generally  so  intelligent.  But 
he  always  loses  his  head  completely  when  he  talks  to  me, 
and  to-night  he  was  more  nervous  than  ever,  which  led  me 
to  think  he  passionately  desired  what  he  asked  for.  I  told 
him  that  nobody  knew  better  than  myself  that  there  had 
been  no  attempt  in  high  quarters  to  put  forward  Del  Dongo, 
that  nobody  about  my  court  denied  his  powers,  that  his 
reputation  for  virtue  was  a  fair  one,  but  that  I  feared  he 
was  capable  of  enthusiasm,  and  that  I  had  made  a  vow  I 

192 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

would  never  place  madmen  of  that  kind,  on  whom  rulers 
never  can  rely,  in  any  exalted  position.  Then,'  his  Highness 
continued,  '  I  had  to  endure  a  pathetic  appeal  nearly  as 
long  as  the  first.  The  archbishop  sang  the  praises  of  en- 
thusiasm for  God's  house.  "  Bungler,"  said  I  to  myself, 
"  you  are  risking  the  appointment  you  were  very  near  get- 
ting! You  should  have  cut  it  short,  and  thanked  me  fer- 
vently." Not  a  bit,  he  went  on  pouring  out  his  homily  with 
a  bravery  that  was  ridiculous.  I  cast  about  for  an  answer 
that  would  not  be  too  unfavourable  to  young  Del  Dongo's 
cause.  I  found  it,  and  a  fairly  apposite  one,  as  you  will 
perceive. 

" '  "  Monsignore,"  I  said,  "  Pius  VII  was  a  great  Pope, 
and  a  g^reat  saint.  He  was  the  only  one  of  all  the  sovereigns 
who  dared  to  say  No  to  the  tyrant  at  whose  feet  Europe 
grovelled.  Well,  he  was  capable  of  enthusiasm,  and  this 
led  him,  when  he  was  Bishop  of  Imola,  into  writing  that 
famous  pastoral  of  the  Citizen-Cardinal  Chiaramonti,  in  sup- 
port of  the  Cisalpine  Republic." 

"  '  My  poor  archbishop  was  struck  dumb,  and  to  com- 
plete his  stupefaction  I  said  to  him,  very  gravely :  "  Fare- 
well, monsignore ;  I  will  take  four-and-twenty  hours  to  think 
over  your  proposal."  The  poor  man  added  a  few  more 
entreaties,  which  were  both  ill-expressed  and,  considering  I 
had  bidden  him  "  Farewell,"  somewhat  inopportune.  Now, 
Count  Mosca  della  Rovere,  I  desire  you  will  inform  the 
duchess  that  I  will  not  delay  for  four-and-twenty  hours  a 
matter  which  may  give  her  pleasure.  Sit  you  down  here, 
and  write  the  archbishop  the  note  of  approval  which  will 
close  the  whole  business.'  I  wrote  the  note,  he  signed  it, 
and  he  said,  '  Take  it  to  the  duchess  instantly.'  Here, 
madam,  is  the  note,  and  to  it  I  owe  the  happiness  of  seeing 
you  again  to-night." 

The  duchess  perused  the  paper  with  delight.  While  the 
count  had  been  telling  his  long  story  Fabrizio  had  had  time 
to  collect  himself.  He  did  not  appear  astonished  by  the  in- 
cident. He  took  it  like  a  true  aristocrat,  who  had  always 
believed  in  his  own  right  to  that  extraordinary  advancement, 
those  lucky  chances  which  might  very  well  throw  a  com- 

193 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

mon  man  off  his  balance.  He  expressed  his  gratitude,  but 
in  measured  language,  and  ended  by  saying  to  the  count : 

"  A  good  courtier  should  flatter  the  ruling  passion. 
Yesterday  you  expressed  your  fear  that  your  workmen 
at  Sanguigna  might  steal  the  fragments  of  antique  statu- 
ary they  may  unearth.  I  delight  in  excavations.  If  you 
will  give  me  leave,  I  will  go  and  look  after  those  work- 
men. To-morrow  evening,  after  I  have  paid  the  necessary 
visits,  to  return  thanks,  at  the  palace,  and  to  the  archbishop, 
I  will  start  for  Sanguigna." 

"  But  can  you  imagine,"  said  the  duchess,  "  any  reason 
for  the  good  archbishop's  sudden  devotion  to  Fabrizio  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  need  of  any  imagination.  The  grand  vicar 
whose  brother  is  a  captain  said  to  me,  yesterday,  '  Father 
Landriani  argues  on  this  unvarying  principle,  that  the 
holder  of  the  title  is  superior  to  the  coadjutor,  and  he  is 
beside  himself  with  delight  at  having  a  Del  Dongo  at  his 
orders,  and  under  an  obligation  conferred  by  himself. 
Everything  that  draws  attention  to  Fabrizio's  high  birth 
increases  his  private  satisfaction — that  is  the  man  he  has 
under  him.  In  the  second  place,  he  likes  Monsignore  Fa- 
brizio. He  does  not  feel  shy  in  his  presence.  And,  finally, 
for  the  last  ten  years  he  has  been  nursing  a  hearty  hatred  of 
the  Bishop  of  Piacenza,  who  openly  avows  his  expectation 
of  succeeding  him  at  Parma,  and  who  is,  besides,  the  son 
of  a  miller.  It  is  with  an  eye  to  this  future  succession  that 
the  Bishop  of  Piacenza  has  entered  into  close  relations  with 
the  Marchesa  Raversi,  and  this  intimacy  makes  our  arch- 
bishop tremble  for  his  pet  plan — that  of  seeing  a  Del  Dongo 
on  his  staflf,  and  of  issuing  his  orders  to  him." 

Very  early  on  the  next  morning  but  one,  Fabrizio  was 
overlooking  the  workers  on  the  excavations  at  Sanguigna, 
opposite  Colorno  (the  Versailles  of  the  Parmese  princes). 
These  excavations  stretched  across  the  plain  close  to  the 
high-road  leading  from  Parma  to  the  bridge  of  Casal-Mag- 
gfiore,  the  nearest  Austrian  town.  The  workmen  were  cut- 
ting a  long  ditch  along  the  plain.  It  was  eight  feet  deep, 
and  as  narrow  as  might  be.  The  object  was  to  find,  along- 
side the  old  Roman  road,  the  ruins  of  a  second  temple, 

194 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

which,  according-  to  local  tradition,  had  been  still  standing  in 
the  middle  ages.  Notwithstanding  the  prince's  authority, 
many  peasants  looked  with  a  jealous  eye  on  the  long 
trenches  cut  across  their  land.  In  spite  of  everything  they 
were  told,  they  fancied  search  was  being  made  for  some 
treasure,  and  Fabrizio's  presence  was  particularly  valuable 
as  a  check  on  any  little  outbreak  on  their  part.  He  was  not 
at  all  bored.  He  watched  the  work  with  passionate  interest. 
Now  and  then  some  medal  was  turned  up,  and  he  was  re- 
solved he  would  not  give  the  labourers  time  to  agree  among 
themselves  to  pilfer  it. 

It  was  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  a  lovely  day. 
He  had  borrowed  an  old  single-barrelled  gun.  He  shot  at  a 
few  larks.  One  of  them  fell  wounded  on  the  high-road. 
Fabrizio,  when  he  followed  it,  saw  a  carriage  in  the  dis- 
tance, coming  from  Parma,  and  travelling  toward  Casal- 
Maggiore.  He  had  just  reloaded  his  gun  when  the  vehicle, 
a  very  shabby  one,  came  slowly  up  to  him,  and  in  it  he 
recognised  little  Marietta.  With  her  were  the  ungainly 
Giletti  and  the  old  woman  she  passed  off  as  her  mother. 

Giletti  took  it  into  his  head  that  Fabrizio  had  set  him- 
self thus  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  gun  in  hand,  with  the 
idea  of  insulting  him,  and  perhaps  of  carrying  off  little 
Marietta.  Like  a  bold  fellow,  he  jumped  out  of  the  carriage 
instantly.  In  his  left  hand  he  grasped  a  large  and  very 
rusty  pistol,  and  in  his  right  a  sword,  still  in  its  scabbard, 
which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  wearing  when  necessity  obliged 
the  manager  of  his  company  to  allot  him  some  nobleman's 
part  in  a  play. 

"  Ha,  villain,"  he  cried,  "  I'm  heartily  glad  to  catch  you 
here,  only  a  league  from  the  frontier !  I'll  soon  settle  your 
business  for  you;  your  violet  stockings  won't  protect  you 
here." 

Fabrizio  had  been  making  signs  to  little  Marietta,  and 
scarcely  paying  any  attention  to  Giletti's  jealous  shrieks. 
Suddenly  he  saw  the  muzzle  of  the  rusty  pistol  within  three 
feet  of  his  own  chest.  He  had  only  time  to  strike  at  the 
pistol  with  his  gun,  using  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  stick;  the 
pistol  went  off,  but  nobody  was  wounded. 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Stop,  you  fool !  "  shrieked  Giletti  to  the  vetturino,  skil- 
fully contriving  at  the  same  time  to  spring  at  the  barrel  of 
his  adversary's  gun  and  hold  it  away  from  his  own  body. 
He  and  Fabrizio  each  tugged  at  the  gun  with  all  his 
strength.  Giletti,  who  was  much  the  stronger  of  the  two, 
kept  slipping  one  hand  over  the  other  toward  the  lock,  and 
had  very  nearly  got  possession  of  the  weapon  when  Fa- 
brizio, to  prevent  his  using  it,  touched  the  trigger.  He 
had  previously  noticed  that  the  muzzle  was  over  three 
inches  above  Giletti's  shoulder.  The  shot  went  off  close  to 
the  man's  ear ;  he  was  a  little  startled,  but  pulled  himself  to- 
gether in  a  moment. 

"  Oho !  you'd  like  to  blow  my  brains  out,  you  scoundrel ! 
I'll  soon  settle  you !  " 

Giletti  threw  away  the  scabbard  of  his  sword,  and  fell 
upon  Fabrizio  with  the  most  astonishing  swiftness.  Fa- 
brizio, who  was  unarmed,  gave  himself  up  for  lost. 

He  bolted  toward  the  carriage,  which  had  stopped  some 
paces  behind  Giletti,  and,  turning  to  the  left,  he  caught  hold 
of  the  springs,  ran  quickly  round  it,  and  past  the  right-hand 
door,  which  was  open.  Giletti,  tearing  along  on  his  long 
legs,  and  not  having  thought  of  catching  at  the  carriage 
springs,  ran  several  steps  in  his  original  direction  before  he 
could  stop  himself.  Just  as  Fabrizio  ran  past  the  open 
door  he  heard  Marietta  say  in  an  undertone :  "  Look  out 
for  yourself ;  he'll  kill  you !  Here !  "  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment he  saw  a  great  hunting-knife  fall  out  of  the  carriage. 
He  bent  down  to  pick  it  up,  but  just  at  that  moment  a 
sword  thrust  from  Giletti  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 
When  Fabrizio  stood  up  he  found  himself  within  six  inches 
of  Giletti,  who  gave  him  a  furious  blow  in  the  face  with  the 
pommel  of  his  sword.  So  violent  was  this  blow  that  Fa- 
brizio was  quite  dazed,  and  at  that  moment  he  was  very 
near  being  killed.  Fortunately  for  him,  Giletti  was  still  too 
close  to  be  able  to  thrust  at  him.  When  Fabrizio  recovered 
his  wits  he  took  to  flight  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  As  he 
ran  he  threw  away  the  sheath  of  the  hunting-knife,  and  then, 
turning  sharp  round,  he  found  himself  within  three  paces  of 
Giletti,  who  was  tearing  after  him.    Giletti  was  running  as 

196 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

fast  as  he  could  go;  Fabrizio  made  a  thrust  at  him,  and 
though  Giletti  had  time  to  strike  up  the  hunting-knife  a 
Httle,  he  received  the  thrust  full  in  his  cheek.  He  passed 
close  to  Fabrizio,  who  felt  himself  wounded  in  the  thigh; 
this  was  by  Giletti's  knife,  which  he  had  found  time  to  open. 
Fabrizio  made  a  spring  to  the  right,  turned  round,  and  at 
last  the  adversaries  found  themselves  within  reasonable 
fighting  distance. 

Giletti  was  swearing  furiously.  "  Ah,  I'll  cut  your  throat 
for  you,  you  scoundrel  of  a  priest !  "  he  cried  over  and  over 
again.  Fabrizio  was  quite  out  of  breath,  and  could  not 
speak ;  the  blow  on  his  face  with  the  pommel  of  the  sword 
hurt  him  dreadfully,  and  his  nose  was  pouring  blood.  He 
parried  various  blows  with  his  hunting-knife,  and  deliv- 
ered several  thrusts  without  well  knowing  what  he  was 
about.  He  had  a  sort  of  vague  idea  that  he  was  performing 
in  a  public  assault-at-arms.  This  idea  had  been  suggested  to 
him  by  the  presence  of  his  workmen,  who,  to  the  number  of 
five-and-twenty  or  thirty,  had  formed  a  ring  round  them, 
but  at  a  very  respectful  distance,  for  both  of  the  combatants 
kept  running  hither  and  thither,  and  then  rushing  upon 
each  other. 

The  fight  seemed  to  be  growing  less  fierce,  the  thrusts 
rather  less  rapidly  exchanged,  when  Fabrizio  said  to  him- 
self, "  Judging  by  the  way  my  face  hurts  me  he  must  have 
disfigured  me."  Stung  to  fury  by  the  thought,  he  rushed 
at  his  enemy,  holding  the  hunting-knife  in  front  of  him. 
The  point  entered  Giletti's  chest  on  the  right,  and  passed 
out  near  his  left  shoulder.  At  the  same  moment  the  whole 
length  of  Giletti's  sword  ran  through  the  upper  part  of 
Fabrizio's  arm,  but  as  the  sword  slipped  beneath  the  skin 
the  wound  was  quite  a  trifling  one. 

Giletti  had  fallen.  Just  as  Fabrizio  went  toward  him, 
with  his  eye  on  his  left  hand,  which  held  the  knife,  that  hand 
unclosed  mechanically,  and  the  weapon  dropped  from  its 
grasp. 

"  The  rascal  is  dead,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself.  He 
looked  at  the  face;  the  blood  was  pouring  from  Giletti's 
mouth. 

197 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Fabrizio  ran  to  the  carriage.  "  Have  you  a  looking- 
glass  ?  "  he  cried  to  Marietta.  Marietta,  very  pale,  was  star- 
ing at  him,  and  did  not  answer.  The  old  woman,  with  the 
greatest  coolness,  opened  a  green  workbag  and  handed 
Fabrizio  a  small  mirror  about  the  size  of  a  man's  hand,  with 
a  handle  to  it.  Fabrizio  felt  his  face  all  over  as  he  peered 
into  the  glass.  "  My  eyes  are  all  right,"  said  he.  "  That's 
a  great  thing."  Then  he  looked  at  his  teeth ;  they  were  not 
broken.    "  Then  why  does  it  hurt  me  so  ?  "  he  murmured. 

The  old  woman  replied :  "  Because  the  top  of  your  cheek 
has  been  crushed  between  Giletti's  sword  and  the  bone  we 
all  have  there.  It's  all  blue  and  horribly  swelled.  Put  on 
leeches  at  once,  and  it  will  be  nothing  at  all." 

"  Ah,  leeches  at  once,"  said  Fabrizio,  laughing,  and  he 
recovered  all  his  self-possession.  He  saw  the  workmen 
gathering  round  Giletti,  looking  at  him  without  daring  to 
touch  him. 

"  Why  don't  you  help  the  man  ?  "  he  shouted.  "  Take  his 
coat  off  him !  "  He  would  have  proceeded,  but  raising  his 
eyes  he  saw,  some  three  hundred  paces  off,  five  or  six  men 
advancing  along  the  high-road,  with  slow  and  measured 
step,  toward  the  spot  on  which  he  stood. 

"  Those  are  gendarmes,"  thought  he  to  himself,  "  and  as 
there's  a  man  dead  they  will  arrest  me,  and  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  making  my  solemn  entry  into  the  city  of  Parma 
with  them!  What  a  nice  story  for  the  courtiers  who  are 
the  Raversi's  friends  and  hate  my  aunt ! "  Instantly,  and 
as  quick  as  lightning,  he  threw  all  the  money  he  had  in  his 
pockets  to  the  astonished  workmen,  and  jumped  into  the 
carriage. 

"  Prevent  those  gendarmes  from  following  me,"  he 
shouted  to  the  men,  "  and  I  will  make  your  fortunes.  Tell 
them  I  am  innocent,  that  the  man  attacked  me  and  would 
have  killed  me.  And  you,"  he  added  to  the  vetturino, 
"  make  your  horses  gallop !  You  shall  have  four  gold  na- 
poleons if  you  get  across  the  Po  before  those  fellows  can 
reach  me." 

"All  right,"  said  the  vetturino;  "don't  be  in  a 
fright!     Those  men  yonder  are  on  foot,  and  if  my  little 

198 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

horses  only  trot  they  will  be  left  far  behind."  As  he  spoke 
he  shook  them  up  into  a  gallop. 

Our  hero  was  much  offended  by  the  coachman's  use  of 
the  word  fright.  He  really  had  been  in  a  horrible  fright 
after  receiving  the  blow  from  the  sword  pommel  in  his  face. 

"  We  may  meet  people  on  horseback  coming  this  way," 
said  the  vetturino,  thinking  of  his  four  napoleons,  "  and 
the  men  who  are  following  us  may  shout  to  them  to  stop 
us."    This  meant  "  Reload  your  weapons." 

"  Ah,  how  brave  you  are,  my  little  abbe ! "  cried  Mari- 
etta, and  she  kissed  Fabrizio.  The  old  woman  had  thrust 
her  head  out  of  the  window ;  presently  she  drew  it  in  again. 

"  Nobody  is  following  you,  sir,"  she  said  to  Fabrizio 
very  coolly,  "  and  there  is  nobody  on  the  road  in  front  of 
you.  You  know  how  precise  the  Austrian  police  officials  are ; 
if  they  see  you  come  galloping  up  to  the  embankment  beside 
the  Po  you  may  be  perfectly  certain  they  will  stop  you." 

Fabrizio  put  his  head  out  of  the  window.  "  You  can 
trot  now,"  said  he  to  the  coachman.  Then,  turning  to  the 
old  woman,  "  What  passport  have  you  ?  " 

"  Three  instead  of  one,"  replied  she,  "  and  each  of  them 
cost  us  four  francs.  Isn't  that  cruel  for  poor  play-actors, 
travelling  all  the  year  round  ?  Here  is  a  passport  for  Signor 
Giletti,  a  dramatic  artist — that  shall  be  you — and  here  are 
Mariettina's  and  mine.  But  Giletti  had  all  our  money  in  his 
pocket.    What  is  to  become  of  us  ?  " 

"  How  much  had  he  ?  "  said  Fabrizio. 

"  Forty  good  crowns  of  five  francs  each,"  said  the  old 
woman. 

"  That  is  to  say,  six  crowns  and  some  small  change," 
laughed  Marietta.  "  I  won't  have  my  little  abbe  imposed 
upon." 

"  Is  it  not  quite  natural,  sir,"  returned  the  old  woman 
with  the  greatest  calmness,  "  that  I  should  try  to  do  you 
out  of  four-and-thirty  crowns?  What  are  thirty-four 
crowns  to  you?  And  as  for  us,  we've  lost  our  protector. 
Who  is  to  look  after  our  lodgings  now,  and  bargain  with 
the  vetturino  when  we  travel,  and  keep  everything  in  order? 
Giletti  was  not  a  beauty,  but  he  was  useful,  and  if  this  child 

199 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

here  had  not  been  a  fool  and  fallen  in  love  with  you  at 
first  sight,  Giletti  would  never  have  noticed  anything,  and 
you  would  have  given  us  good  silver  crowns.  I  can  assure 
you  we  are  very  poor." 

Fabrizio  was  touched.  He  took  out  his  purse  and  gave 
the  old  woman  several  gold  pieces. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  only  fifteen  left,  so  it 
will  be  useless  to  try  and  get  any  more  out  of  me." 

Little  Marietta  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  the 
old  woman  kissed  his  hands.  The  carriage  was  still  trot- 
ting slowly  forward,  when  the  yellow  barriers,  striped  with 
black,  which  marked  the  Austrian  frontier,  appeared  in 
sight.    The  old  woman  addressed  Fabrizio. 

"  You  would  do  well  to  pass  on  foot  with  Giletti's  pass- 
port in  your  pocket.  We  will  stop  a  few  minutes,  on  the 
pretext  of  making  ourselves  look  tidy.  And  besides,  the 
customs  officers  will  open  our  baggage.  If  you  will  take 
my  advice,  you  had  better  walk  lazily  through  Casal-Mag- 
giore ;  even  turn  into  the  cafe  and  drink  a  glass  of  brandy. 
Once  you  are  out  of  the  village  make  ofif.  The  police  on 
Austrian  territory  are  devilishly  sharp;  they  will  soon  find 
out  that  a  man  has  been  killed.  You  are  travelling  with  a 
passport  which  does  not  belong  to  you ;  for  less  than  that 
you  might  get  two  years  in  prison.  When  you  leave  the 
town  turn  to  the  right,  and  get  to  the  banks  of  the  Po.  Hire 
a  boat,  and  take  refuge  at  Ravenna  or  Ferrara.  Get  out  of 
the  Austrian  states  as  quickly  as  ever  you  can.  Two  louis 
will  buy  you  another  passport  from  some  custom-house 
officer;  this  one  would  be  the  ruin  of  you.  Remember 
you've  killed  the  man !  " 

Fabrizio  carefully  reread  Giletti's  passport  as  he  walked 
toward  the  bridge  of  boats  at  Casal-Maggiore.  Our  hero 
was  seriously  alarmed;  he  had  a  vivid  recollection  of  all 
Count  Mosca  had  told  him  concerning  the  risk  he  would 
run  if  he  re-entered  Austrian  territory,  and  only  two  paces 
in  front  of  him  he  saw  the  fateful  bridge  which  was  to 
admit  him  to  those  dominions,  the  capital  of  which,  in  his 
eyes,  was  the  Spielberg.  But  what  else  was  he  to  do?  By 
an  express  convention  between  the  two  states  the  duchy 

200 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

of  Modena,  which  bounds  the  dominion  of  Parma  on  the 
south,  returned  all  fugitives  who  passed  over  its  borders. 
The  Parmese  frontier  running  up  into  the  mountain  country 
near  Genoa  was  too  distant;  his  misadventure  would  be 
known  at  Parma  before  he  could  reach  those  mountains. 
Nothing  remained  to  him,  therefore,  except  the  Austrian 
states  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Po.  Thirty-six  hours  or  two 
days  would  probably  elapse  before  there  could  be  time  to 
write  to  the  Austrian  authorities  and  request  his  arrest.  On 
the  whole,  Fabrizio  thought  it  wiser  to  burn  his  own  pass- 
port, which  he  lighted  at  the  end  of  his  cigar.  He  would 
be  safer  on  Austrian  ground  as  a  vagabond  than  as  Fa- 
brizio del  Dongo,  and  there  was  the  possibility  of  his  being 
searched. 

Apart  from  his  very  natural  repugnance  to  the  idea  of 
staking  his  life  on  the  unhappy  Giletti's  passport,  the  docu- 
ment itself  presented  some  material  difficulties.  Fabrizio's 
stature  did  not,  at  the  most,  exceed  five  foot  five,  instead  of 
the  five  foot  ten  described  in  the  passport.  He  was  nearly 
twenty-four,  and  looked  younger.  Giletti  was  thirty-nine. 
We  will  confess  that  our  hero  spent  a  full  half-hour  walking 
up  and  down  an  embankment  on  the  river,  close  by  the 
bridge  of  boats,  before  he  could  make  up  his  mind  to  go 
down  upon  it.  "  What  advice  should  I  give  to  another 
man  in  my  place  ?  "  said  he  to  himself  at  last.  "  Clearly,  to 
go  across.  It  is  dangerous  to  stay  in  Parma.  A  gendarme 
may  be  sent  in  pursuit  of  the  man  who  has  killed  another, 
even  against  his  own  will."  Fabrizio  turned  out  his  pockets, 
tore  up  all  his  papers,  and  kept  literally  nothing  except  his 
handkerchief  and  his  cigar  case.  It  was  important  to 
shorten,  by  every  possible  means,  the  examination  he  would 
have  to  undergo.  He  thought  of  a  terrible  difficulty  which 
might  be  made,  and  to  which  he  could  find  no  good  answer. 
He  was  going  to  call  himself  Giletti,  and  all  his  linen  was 
marked  F.  D. 

Fabrizio,  as  will  be  observed,  was  one  of  those  unhappy 
beings  who  are  tortured  by  their  own  imaginations,  a  some- 
what common  weakness  among  intelligent  people  in  Italy. 
A  French  soldier  of  equal  or  even  inferior  courage  would 

201 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

have  set  about  crossing  the  bridge  at  once,  without  think- 
ing of  any  difficulty  beforehand,  and  he  would  have  done 
it  with  perfect  composure,  whereas  Fabrizio  was  very  far 
from  being  composed  when,  at  the  far  end  of  the  bridge,  a 
little  man  dressed  in  gray  said  to  him,  "  Go  into  the  police 
office  and  show  your  passport." 

The  office  had  dirty  walls,  studded  with  nails  on  which 
the  officials'  pipes  and  greasy  hats  were  hung.  The  big 
deal  writing-table  at  which  they  sat  was  covered  with  ink 
stains  and  wine  stains.  Two  or  three  big  green  leather 
registers  also  showed  stains  of  every  shade  of  colour,  and 
the  edges  of  the  pages  were  blackened  by  dirty  hands.  On 
these  registers,  which  were  piled  one  upon  the  other,  lay 
three  splendid  laurel  wreaths,  which  had  been  used  the 
night  before,  in  honour  of  one  of  the  Emperor's  fete  days. 

Fabrizio  was  struck  by  all  these  details ;  they  sent  a  pang 
through  his  heart.  This  was  the  price  he  paid  for  the  splen- 
did luxury  and  freshness  of  his  beautiful  rooms  in  the 
Palazzo  Sanseverina.  He  was  obliged  to  enter  the  dirty 
office  and  stand  there  like  an  inferior.  He  was  soon  to  be 
cross-questioned. 

The  official  who  stretched  out  a  yellow  hand  to  receive 
his  passport  was  a  short,  dark  man,  with  a  brass  jewel  in  his 
neckcloth.  "  Here's  a  common  man,  in  a  bad  temper," 
said  Fabrizio  to  himself.  He  seemed  very  much  surprised 
when  he  read  the  passport,  and  the  perusal  lasted  quite  five 
minutes. 

"  You've  had  an  accident,"  said  he  to  the  stranger,  look- 
ing at  his  cheek. 

"  The  vetturino  upset  us  over  the  river  embankment." 
Then  silence  fell  again,  and  the  official  cast  strange  glances 
at  the  traveller. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself ;  "  he's  going  to  tell 
me  that  he's  sorry  to  have  to  give  me  an  unpleasant  piece  of 
news,  and  that  I  am  arrested." 

All  sorts  of  wild  notions  crowded  on  to  our  hero's 
brain.  His  logic  at  that  moment  was  of  the  weakest  descrip- 
tion. He  thought,  for  instance,  of  bolting  through  the  office 
door,  which  was  standing  open.     "  I  would  get  rid  of  my 

2Q2 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

coat,  I  would  jump  into  the  Po,  and  I  have  no  doubt  I  could 
swim  across.    Anything  is  better  than  the  Spielberg." 

While  he  weighed  his  chances  of  succeeding  in  this  prank, 
the  police  officer  was  looking  hard  at  him ;  their  two  faces 
were  a  study.  The  presence  of  danger  inspires  a  sensible 
man  with  genius,  raising  him,  so  to  speak,  above  himself. 
In  the  case  of  the  man  of  imagination,  it  inspires  him  with 
romances,  which  may  indeed  be  bold,  but  which  are  fre- 
quently absurd. 

Our  hero's  look  of  indignation  under  the  scrutinizing 
glance  of  this  police  officer  with  the  brass  jewellery  was 
something  worth  seeing.  "  If  I  were  to  kill  him,"  said 
Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  I  should  be  sentenced  to  twenty  years 
at  the  galleys  or  to  death.  That  would  be  far  less  awful 
than  the  Spielberg,  with  a  chain  weighing  a  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds  on  each  foot,  and  eight  ounces  of  bread  for 
my  daily  food.  And  it  would  last  twenty  years,  so  that  I 
should  be  forty-four  before  I  came  out."  Fabrizio's  logical 
mind  overlooked  the  fact  that  as  he  had  burned  his  own 
passport,  there  was  nothing  to  acquaint  the  police  officer 
with  the  detail  of  his  being  the  rebel  Fabrizio  del  Dongo. 

Our  hero  was  tolerably  frightened,  as  my  readers  per- 
ceive. His  alarm  would  have  been  far  greater  if  he  had  been 
aware  of  the  thoughts  passing  in  the  official's  mind.  The 
man  was  a  friend  of  Giletti's;  his  surprise  at  seeing  his 
passport  in  the  hands  of  another  person  may  therefore  be 
imagined.  His  first  impulse  had  been  to  arrest  the  stranger. 
Then  he  reflected  that  very  likely  Giletti  had  sold  the  pass- 
port to  the  good-looking  young  fellow,  who  had  probably 
just  got  into  some  scrape  at  Parma.  "  If  I  arrest  him,"  said 
he  to  himself,  "  Giletti  will  get  into  trouJ»le.  It  will  easily  be 
discovered  that  he  has  sold  his  passport.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  what  will  my  superiors  say  if  they  find  out  that  I, 
who  am  a  friend  of  Giletti's,  have  countersigned  his  pass- 
port when  presented  by  another  person  ?  "  The  officer 
stood  up  with  a  yawn,  and  said  to  Fabrizio,  "  Wait  here, 
sir!"  Then,  as  was  natural  to  a  policeman,  he  added, 
"  There  is  a  difficulty."  Fabrizio  said  within  himself, 
"  What  there  is  going  to  be,  is  my  flight." 

ao3 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  official,  indeed,  had  left  the  office,  leaving  the  door 
open,  and  the  passport  was  still  lying  on  the  deal  table. 
"  There's  no  doubt  about  my  danger,"  thought  Fabrizio  to 
himself.  "  I  will  take  up  my  passport,  and  walk  quietly  back 
across  the  bridge.  If  the  gendarme  questions  me  I  will  tell 
him  I  have  forgotten  to  get  it  countersigned  by  the  police 
officer  at  the  last  village  in  the  dominion  of  Parma."  The 
passport  was  actually  in  Fabrizio's  hand  when,  to  his  inex- 
pressible astonishment,  he  heard  the  clerk  with  the  brass 
jewellery  say: 

"  Upon  my  soul !  I  am  done  up ;  I'm  choking  with  heat ; 
I  am  going  to  get  a  cup  of  cofifee  at  the  cafe.  When  you've 
finished  your  pipe  just  go  into  the  office ;  there's  a  passport 
to  be  signed.    The  traveller  is  waiting." 

Fabrizio,  who  was  just  stepping  out  on  tiptoe,  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  who 
was  humming  a  tune,  and  heard  him  say,  "  Very  good. 
We'll  see  to  their  passport.  I'll  oblige  them  with  my 
flourish." 

"  Where  do  you  wish  to  go,  sir  ?  " 

"  To  Mantua,  Venice,  and  Ferrara." 

"  Ferrara  let  it  be,"  answered  the  official,  whistling ;  he 
took  up  a  stamp,  printed  the  visa  upon  the  passport  in  blue 
ink,  and  rapidly  inserted  the  words  "  Mantua,  Venice,  and 
Ferrara  "  in  the  blank  space  left  by  the  stamp.  Then  he 
waved  his  hand  in  the  air  several  times,  signed  his  name,  and 
dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink  again  to  make  his  flourish,  a  feat 
he  performed  slowly  and  with  infinite  care.  Fabrizio 
watched  every  motion  of  his  pen.  The  clerk  looked  com- 
placently at  his  flourish,  added  five  or  six  dots,  and  then  re- 
turned the  passport  to  Fabrizio,  saying  indifferently,  "  A 
pleasant  journey  to  you,  sir." 

Fabrizio  was  departing  with  a  rapidity  which  he  was 
attempting  to  conceal  when  he  felt  himself  stopped  by  a 
touch  on  his  left  arm.  Instinctively  his  hand  sought  the 
handle  of  his  dagger,  and  if  he  had  not  seen  houses  all 
round  him  he  might  have  been  guilty  of  a  blunder.  The 
man  who  had  touched  his  left  arm,  seeing  his  startled  look, 
said  apologetically: 

304 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  But  I  spoke  to  you  three  times,  sir,  and  you  did  not 
answer.  Have  you  anything  to  declare  at  the  custom- 
house ?  " 

"  I've  nothing  on  me  but  my  handkerchief ;  I  am  going 
to  shoot  with  one  of  my  relations,  quite  close  by." 

He  would  have  been  sorely  puzzled  if  he  had  been  asked 
to  mention  that  relation's  name. 

Thanks  to  the  great  heat  and  his  own  emotions,  Fa- 
brizio  was  dripping  as  if  he  had  fallen  into  the  Po.  "  I 
am  brave  enough  when  I  have  to  do  with  play-actors,  but 
custom-house  clerks  with  brass  jewellery  drive  me  beside 
myself.  I'll  write  the  duchess  a  comic  sonnet  on  that  sub- 
ject." 

Fabrizio  entered  the  town  of  Casal-Maggiore  and  imme- 
diately turned  to  the  right,  down  a  shabby  street  leading  to 
the  Po.  "  I  am  in  sore  need,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  of  the 
assistance  of  Bacchus  and  Ceres,"  and  he  entered  a  shop, 
over  the  door  of  which  a  gray  cloth  hung  from  a  pole.  On 
this  cloth  was  inscribed  the  word  Trattoria.  A  ragged  bed 
sheet,  supported  by  two  thin  wooden  hoops  and  hanging 
within  three  feet  of  the  ground,  sheltered  the  door  of  the 
trattoria  from  the  direct  blaze  of  the  sun.  Within  it  a  half- 
naked  and  very  pretty  woman  received  our  hero  respect- 
fully, a  fact  which  gave  him  the  keenest  satisfaction.  He 
lost  no  time  in  telling  her  that  he  was  starving  with  hunger. 
While  the  woman  was  preparing  his  breakfast  a  man  of 
about  thirty  years  of  age  came  into  the  room.  On  his 
first  entrance  he  made  no  sign  of  greeting,  but  suddenly 
he  rose  from  the  bench  on  which  he  had  cast  himself  with 
an  easy  gesture,  and  said  to  Fabrizio : 

" Eccellensa!  la  riverisco!"  (I  salute  your  Excellency!) 
Fabrizio  felt  exceedingly  cheerful  at  that  moment,  and  in- 
stead of  at  once  expecting  something  gloomy  he  answered 
with  a  laugh : 

"  And  how  the  devil  do  you  know  my  Excellency  ?  " 

"  What !  doesn't  your  Excellency  recollect  Ludovico, 
one  of  the  Duchess  Sanseverina's  coachmen?  At  Sacca, 
the  country  house  where  we  went  every  year,  I  always  got 
fever,  so  I  asked  my  mistress  to  give  me  a  pension,  and  I 

20$ 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

retired.  I  am  rich  now,  for  instead  of  the  pension  of  twelve 
crowns  a  year,  which  was  the  very  most  I  could  have  ex- 
pected, my  mistress  told  me  that  to  give  me  leisure  to  write 
sonnets  (for  I  am  a  poet  in  the  vulgar  tongue)  she  would 
allow  me  four-and-twenty  crowns;  and  the  signor  count 
told  me  that  if  ever  I  was  in  need  I  had  only  to  come  and 
tell  him.  I  had  the  honour  of  driving  monsignore  for  a 
stage  when  he  went  to  make  his  retreat,  like  a  good  church- 
man, at  the  Carthusian  monastery  at  Velleia." 

Fabrizio  looked  at  the  man,  and  began  to  recall  him 
a  little.  He  had  been  one  of  the  smartest  coachmen  at  the 
Casa  Sanseverina ;  now  that  he  was  rich,  as  he  affirmed,  his 
only  garments  were  a  coarse,  tattered  shirt  and  a  pair  of 
canvas  nether  garments,  which  hardly  reached  his  knees, 
and  had  once  been  dyed  black.  A  pair  of  shoes  and  a  very 
bad  hat  completed  his  costume;  and  further,  he  had  not 
been  shaved  for  a  fortnight.  Fabrizio,  as  he  ate  his  ome- 
let, chatted  with  him  on  absolutely  equal  terms.  He 
thought  he  perceived  that  Ludovico  was  his  hostess's  lover. 
He  soon  despatched  his  meal,  and  then  said  to  Ludovico  in 
an  undertone,  "  I  have  a  word  for  you." 

"  Your  Excellency  can  speak  freely  before  her ;  she  is  a 
really  good  woman,"  said  Ludovico,  with  a  tender  glance. 

"  Well,  then,  my  friends,"  said  Fabrizio  at  once,  "  I  am 
in  trouble,  and  I  want  your  help.  To  begin  with,  there  is 
nothing  political  about  my  business.  I  have  simply  killed 
a  man  who  tried  to  murder  me  because  I  was  speaking  to 
his  mistress." 

"  Poor  young  fellow !  "  quoth  the  hostess. 

"  Your  Excellency  may  reckon  on  me,"  cried  the  coach- 
man, with  eyes  that  shone  with  the  most  fervent  devotion. 
"  Where  does  your  Excellency  desire  to  gO  ?  " 

"  To  Ferrara.  I  have  a  passport,  but  I  would  rather  not 
face  the  gendarmes,  who  may  know  something  of  what  has 
happened." 

"  When  did  you  put  the  fellow  out  of  the  way  ?  " 

"  At  six  o'clock  this  morning." 

"  Is  there  no  blood  on  your  Excellency's  clothes  ?  "  said 
the  hostess. 

206 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that,"  replied  the  coachman ;  "  and 
besides,  the  cloth  is  too  fine.  Such  stuflf  as  that  is  not  often 
seen  in  our  country.  It  would  attract  attention.  I  will  go 
and  buy  clothes  from  the  Jew.  Your  Excellency  is  about 
my  height,  only  thinner." 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  don't  call  me  your  Excellency !  That 
will  attract  attention." 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency,"  replied  the  coachman,  as  he 
went  out  of  the  shop. 

"  Halloo !  halloo !  "  shouted  Fabrizio.  "  What  about  the 
money  ?    Come  back !  " 

"  Don't  talk  of  money,"  said  the  hostess.  "  He  has 
sixty-seven  crowns,  which  are  very  much  at  your  service, 
and  I,"  she  added,  dropping  her  voice,  "  have  forty,  which 
I  offer  you  with  all  my  heart.  One  does  not  always  happen 
to  have  money  about  one  when  such  accidents  as  these 
occur." 

When  Fabrizio  had  entered  the  trattoria  he  had  taken 
off  his  coat  on  account  of  the  heat. 

"  If  any  one  should  come  in,  that  waistcoat  of  yours 
might  get  us  into  difficulties ;  that  fine  English  cloth  would 
be  remarked." 

She  gave  the  fugitive  one  of  her  husband's  waistcoats, 
made  of  canvas  dyed  black.  A  tall  young  man  entered  the 
shop  through  an  inner  door ;  there  was  a  touch  of  elegance 
about  his  dress. 

"  This  is  my  husband,"  said  the  hostess. — "  Pietro  An- 
tonio," said  she  to  her  husband,  "  this  gentleman  is  a  friend 
of  Ludovico's.  He  had  an  accident  this  morning  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river ;  he  wants  to  escape  to  Ferrara." 

"  Oh,  we'll  get  him  through,"  said  the  husband  very  civ- 
illy.   "  We  have  Carlo  Giuseppe's  boat." 

Another  weakness  of  our  hero's  character,  which  we 
will  confess  as  frankly  as  we  have  related  his  fright  in  the 
police  office  at  the  end  of  the  bridge,  now  caused  his  eyes  to 
brim  with  tears. 

The  absolute  devotion  he  had  met  with  among  these 
peasants  moved  him  deeply.  He  thought,  too,  of  his  aunt's 
characteristic  kind-heartedness.     He  would  have  liked  to 

207 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

have  been  able  to  make  all  these  people's  fortunes.  Ludo- 
vico  now  came  back,  carrying  a  bundle. 

"  Good-bye  to  this  other  fellow,"  said  the  husband  in 
the  most  friendly  fashion. 

"  That's  not  it  at  all,"  replied  Ludovico,  in  a  very  anx- 
ious voice.  "  People  are  beginning  to  talk  about  you.  It 
was  noticed  when  you  left  the  main  street  and  turned  down 
our  vicolo  that  you  hesitated,  like  a  man  who  wanted  to 
hide  himself." 

"  Get  up  quickly  to  the  room  above,"  said  the  husband. 
This  room  was  a  very  large  and  handsome  one.  The  two 
windows  were  filled  with  gray  linen  instead  of  glass.  It 
contained  four  beds,  each  about  six  feet  wide  and  five  feet 
high. 

"  And  quick !  and  quick !  "  said  Ludovico.  "  There's  a 
conceited  fool  of  a  gendarme  lately  arrived  here  who  wanted 
to  make  love  to  the  pretty  woman  below  stairs,  and  I 
warned  him  that  when  next  he  went  out  patrolling  on  the 
roads  he  would  very  likely  meet  a  bullet.  If  that  dog  hears 
your  Excellency  mentioned,  he'll  want  to  play  us  a  trick; 
he'll  try  to  get  you  arrested  here,  so  as  to  bring  disrepute 
on  Theodolinda's  trattoria.  What !  "  Ludovico  went  on, 
when  he  saw  Fabrizio's  shirt  all  stained  with  blood  and  his 
wounds  tied  up  with  handkerchiefs ;  "  so  the  porco  defended 
himself !  This  is  enough  to  get  us  arrested  a  hundred  times 
over.  I  didn't  buy  a  shirt."  Unceremoniously  he  opened 
the  husband's  cupboard,  and  handed  over  one  of  his  shirts  to 
Fabrizio,  who  was  soon  dressed  as  a  rich  middle-class  coun-- 
tryman.  Ludovico  unhooked  a  net  which  was  hanging  on 
the  wall,  put  Fabrizio's  clothes  into  the  basket  for  holding 
the  fish,  ran  down  the  stairs,  and  went  swiftly  out  by  a  back 
door,  Fabrizio  following  him. 

"  Theodolinda,"  he  called  out,  as  he  hurried  past  the 
shop,  "  hide  what  we've  left  upstairs.  We'll  go  and  wait  iri 
the  willows,  and  you,  Pietro  Antonio,  make  haste  and  send 
us  a  boat.     It  will  be  well  paid  for." 

Ludovico  led  Fabrizio  over  more  than  twenty  ditches; 
the  widest  of  these  were  bridged  by  very  long  and  very 
elastic  wooden  boards.    Ludovico  pulled  these  planks  over 

208 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

as  fast  as  they  crossed  them.  When  they  reached  the  last 
cutting  he  pulled  the  plank  away  eagerly.  "  Now  we  can 
breathe,"  he  said.  "  That  dog  of  a  policeman  will  have  to 
go  more  than  two  leagues  round  before  he  can  reach  your 
Excellency.  But  you've  turned  white !  "  said  he  to  Fa- 
brizio.  "  I've  not  forgotten  to  bring  a  little  bottle  of 
brandy." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  of  it ;  the  wound  in  my  thigh 
is  beginning  to  hurt,  and  besides,  I  was  in  a  horrible 
fright  while  I  was  in  the  police  office  at  the  end  of  the 
bridge." 

"  I  should  think  so  indeed,"  said  Ludovico.  "  With  a 
bloody  shirt  like  yours,  I  don't  understand  how  you  ever 
dared  to  go  into  such  a  place.  As  for  the  wounds,  I  know 
all  about  that  sort  of  thing.  I'll  take  you  to  a  nice  cool  place 
where  you  can  sleep  for  an  hour;  the  boat  will  come  to 
fetch  us  there,  if  there's  a  boat  to  be  had.  If  not,  when 
you're  a  little  rested  we'll  go  on  two  short  leagues  farther, 
and  I'll  take  you  to  a  mill  where  I  can  get  a  boat  myself. 
Your  Excellency  knows  a  great  deal  more  than  I  do;  my 
mistress  will  be  in  despair  when  she  hears  of  the  accident. 
She  will  be  told  you  are  mortally  wounded,  or  perhaps  that 
you  have  killed  the  other  treacherously.  The  Marchesa 
Raversi  will  not  fail  to  put  about  every  kind  of  spiteful  re- 
port to  distress  my  mistress.  Your  Excellency  might 
write." 

"And  how  shall  I  send  my  letter?" 

"  The  men  at  the  mill  to  which  we  are  going  earn  twelve 
sous  a  day ;  they  can  get  to  Parma  in  a  day  and  a  half — that 
means  four  francs  for  the  journey,  and  two  francs  for  the 
wear  and  tear  of  their  shoes.  If  the  message  was  carried  for 
a  poor  man  like  myself  it  would  cost  six  francs;  as  it  will 
be  done  for  a  nobleman,  I  will  g^ve  twelve." 

When  they  reached  the  resting-place,  in  a  thicket  of 
alder  and  willow  trees,  very  cool  and  shady,  Ludovico  went 
on  an  hour's  distance  to  fetch  paper  and  ink.  "  Heavens ! 
how  comfortable  I  am  here ! "  exclaimed  Fabrizio ;  "  for- 
tune, farewell!     I  shall  never  be  an  archbishop." 

When  Ludovico  returned  he  found  him  sound  asleep, 

209 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  would  not  wake  him.  The  boat  did  not  come  till  near 
sunset.  As  soon  as  Ludovico  saw  it  appearing  in  the  dis- 
tance, he  roused  Fabrizio,  who  wrote  two  letters. 

"  Your  Excellency  is  very  much  wiser  than  I  am,"  said 
Ludovico,  with  a  look  of  distress,  "  and  I  am  afraid  you  will 
be  displeased  with  me  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart,  what- 
ever you  may  say,  if  I  add  a  certain  thing." 

"  I  am  not  such  an  idiot  as  you  think,"  said  Fabrizio. 
"  And  whatever  you  may  say  to  me,  I  shall  always  look  upon 
you  as  a  faithful  servant  of  my  aunt's,  and  a  man  who  has 
done  everything  in  the  world  to  help  me  out  of  a  very  ter- 
rible difficulty." 

A  good  many  further  protestations  were  necessary  be- 
fore Ludovico  could  be  induced  to  speak,  and  when  he 
finally  made  up  his  mind  he  began  with  a  preface  which 
lasted  quite  five  minutes.  Fabrizio  grew  impatient,  and  then 
he  thought :  "  Whose  fault  is  this  ?  The  fault  of  our  vanity, 
which  this  man  has  seen  very  clearly  from  his  coach-box  ?  " 
At  last  Ludovico's  devotion  induced  him  to  run  the  risk 
of  speaking  frankly. 

"  What  would  not  the  Marchesa  Raversi  give  the  runner 
you  are  going  to  send  to  Parma  for  those  two  letters? 
They  are  written  by  your  own  hand,  and  therefore  can  be 
used  as  evidence  against  you.  Your  Excellency  will  take 
me  for  an  indiscreet  and  curious  person,  and  besides,  you 
will  be  ashamed,  perhaps,  to  let  the  duchess  see  a  poor 
coachman's  handwriting.  But  for  the  sake  of  your  safety,  I 
am  forced  to  speak,  even  if  you  do  think  it  an  impertinence. 
Could  not  your  Excellency  dictate  those  two  letters  to  me? 
Then  I  should  be  the  only  person  compromised,  and  very 
little  compromised  at  that,  for  I  could  always  say  that  you 
made  your  appearance  in  front  of  me  in  a  field,  with  an  ink- 
horn  in  one  hand  and  a  pistol  in  the  other,  and  ordered  me 
to  write." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  my  dear  Ludovico,"  cried  Fa- 
brizio ;  "  and  to  convince  you  I  have  no  desire  to  keep  any- 
thing secret  from  such  a  friend,  you  shall  copy  these  two 
letters  just  as  they  are."  Ludovico  realized  the  full  extent 
of  this  mark  of  confidence,  and  was  very  much  touched  by 

210 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

it,  but  at  the  end  of  a  few  lines,  seeing  the  boat  coining 
rapidly  toward  them — 

"  These  letters  will  be  finished  more  quickly,"  said  he 
to  Fabrizio,  "  if  your  Excellency  would  take  the  trouble  of 
dictating  them  to  me."  As  soon  as  the  letters  were  finished, 
Fabrizio  wrote  an  A  and  a  B  on  the  bottom  line,  and  on  a 
little  scrap  of  paper  which  he  afterward  crumpled  up,  he 
wrote  in  French,  "  Croyez  A  et  B."  The  messenger  was  to 
hide  this  scrap  of  paper  in  his  clothes. 

When  the  boat  was  within  hailing  distance,  Ludovico 
shouted  to  the  boatmen,  using  names  which  were  not  their 
own.  They  did  not  reply,  but  approached  the  bank  about 
a  thousand  yards  lower  down,  looking  about  on  every  side, 
lest  any  custom-house  officer  should  have  caught  sight  of 
them. 

"  I  am  at  your  orders,"  said  Ludovico  to  Fabrizio. 
"Would  you  wish  me  to  take  the  letters  to  Parma  myself? 
Would  you  like  me  to  go  with  you  to  Ferrara?" 

"  To  come  with  me  to  Ferrara  is  a  service  which  I  did 
not  venture  to  ask  of  you.  I  shall  have  to  land  and  try  to 
get  into  the  town  without  showing  my  passport.  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I  have  the  greatest  repugnance  to  the 
idea  of  travelling  under  Giletti's  name,  and  nobody  that  I 
can  think  of,  except  yourself,  can  procure  me  another  pass- 
port." 

"  Why  did  you  not  speak  of  that  at  Casal-Maggiore  ?  I 
know  a  spy  there  who  would  have  sold  us  an  excellent  pass- 
port, and  not  dear  either,  for  forty  or  fifty  francs." 

One  of  the  two  boatmen,  who  had  been  born  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  Po,  and  consequently  needed  no  passport  to  get 
him  to  Parma,  undertook  to  deliver  the  letters.  Ludovico, 
who  knew  how  to  handle  an  oar,  pledged  himself  to  manage 
the  boat  with  th?  other  man's  assistance. 

"  Lower  down  the  river,"  he  said,  "  we  shall  meet  several 
armed  police-boats,  and  I  know  how  to  keep  out  of  their 
way."  A  dozen  times  they  had  to  hide  themselves  in  the 
midst  of  low  islets  covered  with  willows ;  three  times  they 
landed,  to  let  the  empty  boat  pass  in  front  of  the  police 
boats.     Ludovico  took  advantage  of  these  long  spells  of 

211 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

idleness  to  recite  several  of  his  sonnets  to  Fabrizio.  They 
were  good  enough  as  regarded  feeling,  but  this  was  weak- 
ened by  the  form  of  expression,  and  none  of  them  were 
worth  writing  down.  The  curious  thing  was  that  the  ex- 
coachman's  passions  and  conception  were  lively  and  pic- 
turesque, but  the  moment  he  began  to  write  he  grew  cold 
and  commonplace.  "  The  very  opposite,"  said  Fabrizio  to 
himself,  "  of  what  we  see  in  the  world.  There  everything  is 
gracefully  expressed,  but  the  heart  has  nothing  to  do  with 
it."  He  discovered  that  the  greatest  pleasure  he  could  do 
to  his  faithful  servant  was  to  correct  the  spelling  of  his 
sonnets. 

"  When  I  lend  my  manuscript  to  anybody  I  get  laughed 
at,"  said  Ludovico.  "  But  if  your  Excellency  would  con- 
descend to  dictate  the  spelling  of  the  words  to  me,  letter 
by  letter,  envious  people  would  have  to  hold  their  tongues. 
Spelling  is  not  genius." 

It  was  not  till  the  evening  of  the  second  day  that  Fa- 
brizio was  able  to  land,  in  perfect  safety,  in  an  alder  copse 
a  league  from  Ponte-Lago-Oscuro.  All  the  day  long  he 
lay  hid  in  a  hemp  field,  and  Ludovico  went  on  to  Ferrara, 
where  he  hired  a  little  lodging  in  the  house  of  a  needy 
Jew,  who  at  once  realized  that  there  was  money  to  be 
earned  if  he  would  hold  his  tongue.  In  the  evening,  as 
the  darkness  was  falling,  Fabrizio  rode  into  Ferrara  on  a 
pony.  He  was  in  urgent  need  of  care.  The  heat  on  the  river 
had  made  him  ill ;  the  knife  thrust  in  his  thigh  and  the 
sword  thrust  Giletti  had  given  him  in  the  shoulder,  at  the 
beginning  of  their  fight,  had  both  become  inflamed,  and 
made  him  feverish. 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  Jew  landlord  of  their  lodgings  brought  them  a  dis- 
creet surgeon,  who,  soon  coming  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  was  money  to  be  made,  informed  Ludovico  that  his 
conscience  obliged  him  to  report  the  wounds  of  the  young 
man,  whom  Ludovico  called  his  brother,  to  the  police. 

"  The  law  is  clear,"  he  added.  "  It  is  quite  evident  that 
your  brother  has  not  hurt  himself,  as  he  declares,  by  fall- 
ing off  a  ladder  with  an  open  knife  in  his  hand." 

Ludovico  coldly  answered  the  worthy  surgeon  to  the 
effect  that  if  he  ventured  to  listen  to  the  promptings  of  his 
conscience,  he,  Ludovico,  would  have  the  honour,  before 
he  left  Ferrara,  of  falling  upon  him  with  an  open  knife  in 
his  hand.  When  he  related  the  incident  to  Fabrizio  he 
blamed  him  severely.  But  there  was  not  an  instant  to  be 
lost  about  decamping,  Ludovico  told  the  Jew  he  was  going 
to  try  what  an  airing  would  do  for  his  brother.  He  fetched 
a  carriage,  and  our  friends  left  the  house,  never  to  return 
to  it  again.  My  readers  doubtless  find  these  descriptions 
of  all  the  steps  necessitated  by  the  lack  of  a  passport  very 
lengthy.  But  in  Italy,  and  especially  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  Po,  everybody's  talk  is  about  passports.  As  soon  as 
they  had  slipped  safely  out  of  Ferrara,  as  if  they  were  merely 
taking  a  drive,  Ludovico  dismissed  the  carriage,  re-entered 
the  town  by  a  different  gate,  and  then  came  back  to  fetch 
Fabrizio  in  a  sediola,  which  he  had  hired  to  take  them  twelve 
leagues.  When  they  were  near  Bologna,  our  friends  had 
themselves  driven  across  country,  to  the  road  leading  into 
the  city  from  Florence.  They  spent  the  night  in  the  most 
wretched  tavern  they  could  discover,  and  the  next  morning, 
as  Fabrizio  felt  strong  enough  to  walk  a  little,  they  entered 
Bologna  on  foot.    Giletti's  passport  had  been  burned.    The 

213 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

actor's  death  must  now  be  known,  and  it  was  less  dangerous 
to  be  arrested  for  having  no  passport,  than  for  presenting  one 
belonging  to  a  man  who  had  been  killed. 

Ludovico  knew  several  servants  in  great  houses  at 
Bologna.  It  was  agreed  that  he  should  go  and  collect  in- 
telligence from  them.  He  told  them  he  had  come  from 
Florence  with  his  young  brother,  who,  being  overcome  with 
sleep,  had  let  him  start  alone  an  hour  before  sunrise.  They 
were  to  have  met  in  the  village  where  Ludovico  was  to 
halt  during  the  sultry  midday  hours,  but  when  his  brother 
did  not  arrive,  Ludovico  had  resolved  to  retrace  his  steps. 
He  had  found  him  wounded  by  a  blow  from  a  stone  and 
several  knife  thrusts,  and  robbed  into  the  bargain,  by  peo- 
ple who  had  picked  a  quarrel  with  him.  The  brother  was  a 
good-looking  young  fellow;  he  could  groom  and  manage 
horses,  and  would  be  glad  to  take  service  in  some  great 
house.  Ludovico  intended  to  add,  if  necessity  should  arise, 
that  when  Fabrizio  had  fallen  down,  the  thieves  had  taken 
to  flight,  and  had  carried  off  a  little  bag  containing  their 
linen  and  their  passports. 

When  Fabrizio  reached  Bologna  he  felt  very  weary,  and 
not  daring  to  go  into  an  inn  without  a  passport,  he  turned 
into  the  large  Church  of  San  Petronio.  It  was  deliciously 
cool  within  the  building,  and  he  soon  felt  quite  recovered. 
"  Ungrateful  wretch  that  I  am,"  said  he  to  himself  suddenly ; 
"  I  walk  into  a  church,  and  just  sit  myself  down  as  if  I  were 
in  a  cafe."  He  threw  himself  on  his  knees,  and  thanked 
God  fervently  for  the  protection  He  had  so  evidently  ex- 
tended to  him  since  he  had  had  the  misfortune  of  killing 
Giletti.  The  danger  which  still  made  him  shudder  was  that 
of  being  recognised  in  the  police  office  at  Casal-Maggiore. 
"  How  was  it,"  he  thought,  "  that  the  clerk,  whose  eyes 
were  so  full  of  suspicion,  and  who  read  my  passport  three 
times  over,  did  not  perceive  that  I  am  not  five  foot  ten  tall, 
that  I  am  not  eight-and-thirty  years  old,  and  that  I  am  not 
deeply  pitted  with  the  small-pox?  What  mercies  do  I  owe 
thee,  oh,  my  God !  and  I  have  waited  until  now  to  lay  my 
nothingness  at  Thy  feet.  My  pride  would  fain  have  believed 
it  was  to  vain  human  prudence  that  I  owed  the  happiness 

214 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

of  escaping  the  Spielberg,  which  was  already  yawning  to 
engulf  me." 

More  than  an  hour  did  Fabrizio  spend  in  the  deepest 
emotion  at  the  thought  of  the  immense  goodness  of  the 
Most  High.  He  did  not  hear  Ludovico  approach  him  and 
stand  in  front  of  him.  Fabrizio,  who  had  hidden  his  face  in 
his  hands,  raised  his  head,  and  his  faithful  servant  saw  the 
tears  coursing  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Come  back  in  an  hour,"  said  Fabrizio  to  him  with 
some  asperity. 

Ludovico  forgave  his  tone  in  consideration  of  his  piety. 
Fabrizio  recited  the  seven  penitential  psalms,  which  he 
knew  by  heart,  several  times  over,  making  long  pauses  over 
the  verses  applicable  to  his  present  position. 

Fabrizio  asked  pardon  of  God  for  many  things,  but  it 
is  a  remarkable  fact  that  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  reckon 
among  his  faults  his  plan  of  becoming  an  archbishop  simply 
and  solely  because  Count  Mosca  was  a  prime  minister,  and 
considered  this  dignity,  and  the  great  position  it  conferred, 
suitable  for  the  duchess's  nephew.  He  had  not  indeed  de- 
sired the  thing  at  all  passionately,  but  still  he  had  considered 
it  exactly  as  he  would  have  considered  his  appointment  to 
a  ministry  or  a  military  command.  The  thought  that  his 
conscience  might  be  involved  in  the  duchess's  plan  had 
never  struck  him.  This  is  a  remarkable  feature  of  the  teach- 
ing he  owed  to  the  Jesuits  at  Milan.  This  form  of  religion 
deprives  men  of  courage  to  think  of  unaccustomed  matters, 
and  more  especially  forbids  self-examination,  as  the  greatest 
of  all  sins — a  step  toward  Protestantism.  To  discover  in 
what  one  is  guilty,  we  must  ask  questions  of  one's  priest,  or 
read  the  list  of  sins  as  printed  in  the  book  entitled  Prepara- 
tion for  the  Sacrament  of  Penitence.  Fabrizio  knew  the 
Latin  list  of  sins,  which  he  had  learned  at  the  Ecclesias- 
tical Academy  at  Naples,  by  heart,  and  when,  as  he  re- 
peated this  list,  he  came  to  the  word  "  Murder,"  he  had 
honestly  accused  himself  before  God  of  having  killed  a 
man,  though  in  defence  of  his  own  life.  He  had  run  rapidly, 
and  without  the  smallest  attention,  through  the  various 
clauses  relating  to  the  sin  of  simony  (the  purchase  of  ec- 

215 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

clesiastical  dignities  with  money).  If  he  had  been  invited 
to  give  a  hundred  louis  to  become  grand  vicar  to  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Parma,  he  would  have  shrunk  from  the  idea  with 
horror.  But  although  he  neither  lacked  intelligence  nor, 
more  especially,  logic,  it  never  once  came  into  his  head 
that  the  employment  of  Count  Mosca's  credit  in  his  favour 
constituted  a  simony.  Herein  lies  the  triumph  of  the 
Jesuits'  teaching;  it  instils  the  habit  of  paying  no  attention 
to  things  which  are  as  clear  as  day.  A  Frenchman  brought 
up  amid  Parisian  self-interest  and  scepticism  might  hon- 
estly have  accused  Fabrizio  of  hypocrisy  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  our  hero  was  laying  open  his  heart  before  his 
God  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  and  the  deepest  possible 
emotion. 

Fabrizio  did  not  leave  the  church  until  he  had  prepared 
the  confession  which  he  had  resolved  to  make  the  very  next 
morning.  He  found  Ludovico  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the 
huge  stone  peristyle  which  rises  on  the  great  square  before 
the  fa9ade  of  San  Petronio.  Just  as  the  air  is  purified  by  a 
great  thunder-storm,  so  Fabrizio's  heart  felt  calmer,  happier, 
and,  so  to  speak,  cooler.  "  I  am  much  better.  I  hardly  feel 
my  wounds  at  all,"  he  said,  as  he  joined  Ludovico.  "  But, 
first  of  all,  I  must  ask  your  forgiveness;  I  answered  you 
crossly  when  you  came  to  speak  to  me  in  the  church.  I  was 
examining  my  conscience.  Well,  how  does  our  busi- 
ness go  ?  " 

"  It's  going  right  well.  I've  engaged  a  lodging — not  at 
all  worthy  of  your  Excellency,  indeed — kept  by  the  wife  of 
one  of  my  friends,  who  is  a  very  pretty  woman,  and  in 
close  intimacy,  besides,  with  one  of  the  principal  police 
agents.  To-morrow  I  shall  go  and  report  that  our  passports 
have  been  stolen.  This  declaration  will  be  well  received, 
but  I  shall  pay  the  postage  of  a  letter  which  the  police 
will  send  to  Casal-Maggiore  to  inquire  whether  there  is  a 
man  there  of  the  name  of  San  Micheli,  who  has  a  brother 
named  Fabrizio  in  the  service  of  the  Duchess  Sanseverina 
of  Parma.  It's  all  done,  siamo  d,  cavallo  "  (an  Italian  proverb, 
meaning  "  we  are  saved  "). 

Fabrizio  had  suddenly  become  very  grave.     He  asked 

2i6 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Ludovico  to  wait  for  him  a  moment,  returned  to  the  church 
almost  at  a  run,  and  had  hardly  got  inside  when  he  cast 
himself  once  more  upon  his  knees  and  humbly  kissed  the 
stone  pavement.  "  This  is  a  miracle,"  he  cried,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes.  "  Thou  sawest  my  soul  ready  to  return  to  the 
path  of  duty,  and  Thou  hast  saved  me.  O  God,  I  may 
be  killed  some  day  in  a  scuffle.  Remember,  O  Lord,  when 
my  dying  moment  comes,  the  condition  of  my  heart  at  this 
moment."  In  a  passion  of  the  liveliest  joy,  Fabrizio  once 
more  recited  the  seven  penitential  psalms.  Before  he 
left  the  church,  he  approached  an  old  woman  who  sat  in 
front  of  a  great  Madonna  and  beside  an  iron  triangle  set 
vertically  on  a  support  of  the  same  metal.  The  edges  of  this 
triangle  bristled  with  little  spikes,  destined  to  support  the 
small  tapers  which  the  faithful  burn  before  Cimabue's  fa- 
mous Madonna. 

Only  seven  tapers  were  burning  when  Fabrizio  ap- 
proached. He  noted  the  fact  in  his  memory,  so  as  to  re- 
flect on  it  when  he  should  have  time. 

"  How  much  do  the  tapers  cost  ? "  said  he  to  the 
woman. 

"  Two  haiocchi  each." 

And,  indeed,  they  were  no  thicker  than  a  penholder,  and 
not  a  foot  high. 

"  How  many  tapers  will  your  triangle  hold  ?  " 

"  Sixty-three,  since  there  are  seven  already." 

"  Ha !  "  said  Fabrizio.  "  Sixty-three  and  seven  make 
seventy;  I  must  remember  that,  too."  He  paid  for  the 
tapers,  set  up  and  lighted  the  first  seven  himself,  and 
then  knelt  down  to  make  his  offering.  As  he  rose  from 
his  knees  he  said  to  the  old  woman,  "  It  is  for  a  mercy 
bestowed." 

"  I  am  dying  of  hunger,"  said  Fabrizio  to  Ludovico  as 
he  rejoined  him. 

"  Don't  let  us  go  into  a  tavern ;  let  us  go  to  the  lodg- 
ings," said  his  servant.  "  The  mistress  of  the  house  will 
go  out  and  buy  you  what  you  want  for  breakfast;  she'll 
cheat  us  out  of  a  score  of  sous,  and  that  will  make  her  feel 
all  the  more  kindly  to  the  new  arrival." 

217 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  That  means  that  I  shall  have  to  go  on  starving  for 
another  hour,"  said  Fabrizio,  laughing  as  merrily  as  a  child, 
and  he  entered  a  tavern  close  to  San  Petronio.  To  his 
extreme  astonishment  he  beheld,  sitting  at  a  table  close  to 
his  own  his  aunt's  principal  man-servant,  Pepe,  the  very 
man  who  had  once  been  sent  to  meet  him  at  Geneva.  Fa- 
brizio signed  to  him  to  keep  silence ;  then,  after  a  hasty  re- 
past, with  a  happy  smile  trembling  on  his  lips,  he  rose  to 
his  feet.  Pepe  followed  him,  and  for  the  third  time  our 
hero  passed  into  San  Petronio.  Ludovico  discreetly  held 
back,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  square. 

"  Oh,  monsignore,  how  are  your  wounds  ?  The  duchess 
is  in  dreadful  anxiety.  For  one  whole  day  she  believed  you 
were  dead,  and  cast  away  on  some  island  in  the  river.  I 
must  send  a  messenger  to  her  instantly.  I  have  been  hunt- 
ing for  you  for  six  days ;  I  spent  three  of  them  at  Ferrara, 
going  to  all  the  inns." 

"  Have  you  a  passport  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  three.  One  with  all  your  Excellency's  names 
and  titles,  one  with  nothing  but  your  name,  and  the  third 
with  a  false  name,  Giuseppe  Bossi.  Each  of  the  passports 
will  serve  your  Excellency's  purpose,  whether  you  choose 
to  arrive  from  Florence  or  from  Modena.  All  you  have  to 
do  is  to  walk  out  beyond  the  town.  The  count  would  be 
glad  if  you  would  lodge  at  the  Albergo  del  Pellegrino,  which 
is  kept  by  a  friend  of  his." 

Fabrizio  walked,  as  though  by  chance,  up  the  right  aisle 
of  the  church  to  the  spot  where  his  tapers  were  burning. 
He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  Cimabue  Madonna,  then,  kneeling 
down,  he  said  to  Pepe,  "  I  must  thank  God  for  a  moment." 
Pepe  followed  his  example.  As  they  left  the  church  Pepe 
noticed  that  Fabrizio  gave  a  twenty-franc  piece  to  the  first 
beggar  who  asked  charity  of  him.  The  beggar  set  up  a 
shout  of  gratitude,  which  attracted  the  crowds  of  indigent 
people  of  every  sort  who  generally  collect  on  the  square  of 
San  Petronio  all  round  the  charitable  donor.  Everybody 
wanted  his  or  her  share  of  the  napoleon.  The  women,  de- 
spairing of  getting  through  the  press  round  the  lucky  men- 
dicant, fell  upon  Fabrizio,  shrieking  to  him  to  say  it  was 

218 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

true  he  had  given  his  gold  piece  to  be  divided  among  all 
the  poor  beggars.  Pepe  brandished  his  gold-headed  cane, 
and  ordered  them  to  leave  "  his  Excellency  "  alone. 

"  Oh,  your  Excellency,"  screamed  all  the  women  at 
once,  even  louder  than  before,  "  give  the  poor  women  an- 
other gold  piece."  Fabrizio  quickened  his  pace ;  the  women 
ran  after  him,  calling  aloud,  and  many  male  beggars  ran 
up  from  side  streets,  so  that  quite  a  little  disturbance  en- 
sued. The  whole  of  the  filthy  and  noisy  crowd  kept  shout- 
ing "  Your  Excellency !  "  Fabrizio  found  it  by  no  means 
easy  to  get  out  of  the  press.  The  scene  recalled  his  im- 
agination to  earth.  "  I  am  only  getting  what  I  deserve," 
thought  he.  "  I  have  been  rubbing  shoulders  with  the  com- 
mon folk." 

Two  of  the  women  followed  him  as  far  as  the  Saragossa 
Gate,  through  which  he  passed  out  of  the  town.  There 
Pepe  stopped  them  by  threatening  them  seriously  with  his 
cane  and  throwing  them  some  small  coins.  Fabrizio 
climbed  the  pretty  hill  of  San  Michele  in  Bosco,  walked 
partly  round  the  town,  outside  the  walls,  turned  into  a  foot- 
path, which,  five  hundred  paces  farther  on,  ran  into  the  road 
from  Florence,  returned  to  Bologna,  and  gravely  presented 
a  passport  containing  a  very  accurate  description  of  his  per- 
son to  the  police  commissary.  This  passport  described 
him  as  Giuseppe  Bossi,  student  of  theology.  Fabrizio 
noticed  a  little  splash  of  red  ink  that  seemed  to  have  been 
dropped  by  accident  on  the  lower  right-hand  corner  of  the 
paper.  Two  hours  later  he  had  a  spy  upon  his  heels,  on 
account  of  the  title  "  your  Excellency  "  applied  to  him  by 
his  companion  in  the  presence  of  the  beggars  at  San  Pe- 
tronio,  although  his  passport  detailed  none  of  those  honours 
which  entitle  a  man  to  be  addressed  as  "  Excellency  "  by 
his  servants. 

Fabrizio  perceived  the  spy,  and  snapped  his  fingers  at 
him.  He  gave  not  a  thought,  now,  either  to  passports  or 
police  officers,  and  was  as  amused  as  a  child  with  everything 
about  him.  When  Pepe,  who  had  been  ordered  to  stay  with 
him,  saw  how  well  pleased  he  was  with  Ludovico,  he 
thought  his  own  best  course  was  to  carry  the  good  news  to 

219 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  duchess  himself.  Fabrizio  wrote  two  long  letters  to 
his  dear  ones.  Then  he  bethought  him  of  writing  a  third 
to  the  venerable  Archbishop  Landriani.  This  letter  pro- 
duced a  most  extraordinary  effect.  It  contained  the  exact 
history  of  his  fight  with  Giletti.  The  good  archbishop,  quite 
overcome  by  his  emotion,  did  not  fail  to  go  and  read  the 
letter  to  the  prince,  whose  curiosity  to  know  how  the  young 
monsignore  would  set  about  excusing  so  terrible  a  murder 
made  him  willing  to  listen.  Thanks  to  the  Marchesa  Ra- 
versi's  many  friends,  the  prince,  like  the  whole  city  of 
Parma,  believed  Fabrizio  had  obtained  the  assistance  of 
some  twenty  or  thirty  peasants  to  kill  an  inferior  actor  who 
had  ventured  to  dispute  his  possession  of  little  Marietta. 
At  despotic  courts  truth  lies  at  the  mercy  of  the  first  clever 
schemer,  just  as  in  Paris  it  is  ruled  by  fashion. 

"  But,  devil  take  it,"  said  the  prince  to  the  archbishop, 
"  one  has  those  things  done  by  a  third  person.  It  is  not 
customary  to  do  them  oneself.  And  then  actors  like  Giletti 
are  not  killed ;  they  are  bought." 

Fabrizio  had  not  the  smallest  suspicion  of  what  was 
going  on  at  Parma.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  death  of  a 
player  who  only  earned  thirty-two  francs  a  month  in  his 
lifetime  was  going  near  to  overthrow  the  ultra  ministry,  with 
Count  Mosca  at  its  head. 

When  the  news  of  Giletti's  death  reached  him,  the  prince, 
nettled  by  the  airs  of  independence  which  the  duchess  gave 
herself,  had  ordered  Rassi,  his  Minister  of  Justice,  to  deal 
with  the  whole  trial  as  if  the  accused  person  had  been  a 
Liberal.  Fabrizio,  for  his  part,  believed  that  a  man  of  his 
rank  was  above  all  law.  The  fact  that  in  countries  where 
the  bearers  of  great  names  are  never  punished,  there  is 
nothing  that  can  not  be  achieved,  even  against  such  persons, 
by  intrigue,  had  not  entered  into  his  calculations.  He  would 
often  talk  to  Ludovico  of  his  perfect  innocence,  which  was 
soon  to  be  proclaimed.  His  great  argument  was  that  he  was 
not  guilty.  At  last,  one  day,  Ludovico  said  to  him :  "  I 
can  not  conceive  why  your  Excellency,  who  is  so  clever  and 
knows  so  much,  takes  the  trouble  of  saying  such  things  to 
me,  who  am  his  devoted  servant.    Your  Excellency  is  too 

220 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

cautious.  Such  things  are  only  good  for  use  in  public  or  be- 
fore the  judges." 

"  This  man  believes  I  am  a  murderer,  and  he  does  not 
love  me  the  less,"  mused  Fabrizio,  thunder-struck. 

Three  days  after  Pepe's  departure,  Fabrizio  was  aston- 
ished to  receive  a  huge  letter  bound  with  a  silken  cord,  like 
those  used  in  Louis  XIV's  time,  and  addressed  to  "  His  Most 
Reverend  Excellency,  Monsignore  Fabrizio  del  Dongo, 
Chief  Grand  Vicar  of  the  Diocese  of  Parma,  Canon,  etc." 

"  But  am  I  all  that  already  ?  "  he  said  to  himself  with 
a  laugh.  Archbishop  Landriani's  epistle  was  a  masterpiece 
of  perspicacity  and  logic.  It  covered  no  less  than  nineteen 
large  sheets,  and  gave  a  very  good  account  of  everything 
that  had  happened  at  Parma  with  regard  to  Giletti's  death. 

"  The  march  of  a  French  army  on  the  town,  under  the 
command  of  Marshal  Ney,  would  not  have  made  more  stir," 
wrote  the  good  archbishop.  "  Every  soul,  my  very  dear 
son,  except  the  duchess  and  myself,  believes  you  killed  the 
actor  Giletti  because  you  wanted  to  do  it.  If  that  misfor- 
tune had  befallen  you,  it  would  have  been  one  of  those 
matters  that  can  be  hushed  up  by  means  of  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred louis  and  an  absence  of  six  months.  But  the  Raversi  is 
bent  on  using  the  incident  to  overthrow  Count  Mosca.  It  is 
not  the  terrible  sin  of  murder  for  which  the  public  blames 
you,  it  is  simply  for  your  awkwardness,  or  rather  insolence, 
in  not  having  condescended  to  employ  a  bulo  [a  kind  of  in- 
ferior bully].  I  give  you  the  clear  substance  of  the  talk  I 
hear  all  round  me.  For  since  this  most  deplorable  event 
I  go  every  day  to  three  of  the  most  important  houses  in 
this  city,  so  as  to  find  opportunity  for  justifying  you,  and 
never  have  I  felt  I  was  making  a  holier  use  of  what  little 
eloquence  Heaven  has  bestowed  on  me." 

The  scales  began  to  fall  from  Fabrizio's  eyes.  The  nu- 
merous letters  he  received  from  the  duchess,  all  throbbing 
with  affection,  never  condescended  to  report  anything  of 
what  was  happening  around  her.  The  duchess  assured  him 
she  would  leave  Parma  forever,  unless  he  soon  returned 
there  in  triumph.  "  The  count,"  she  wrote,  in  a  letter  which 
reached  him  together  with  the  archbishop's,  "  will  do  all 

221 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

that  is  humanly  possible  for  you.  As  for  me,  this  last  prank 
of  yours  has  changed  my  nature ;  I  have  grown  as  stingy 
as  Tombone,  the  banker.  I  have  discharged  all  my  work- 
men. I  have  done  more — I  have  dictated  the  inventory  of 
my  belongings  to  the  count,  and  I  find  I  have  very  much 
less  than  I  thought.  After  the  death  of  that  excellent  Pietra- 
nera  (whose  murder,  by  the  way,  you  would  have  done  far 
better  to  avenge,  than  to  risk  your  life  against  such  a  creature 
as  Giletti),  I  was  left  with  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year,  and 
debts  amounting  to  five  thousand.  Among  other  things, 
I  remember,  I  had  thirty  pairs  of  white  satin  slippers  which 
had  come  from  Paris,  and  only  one  single  pair  of  walking 
shoes.  I  have  almost  made  up  my  mind  to  take  the  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  the  duke  left  me,  and  which  I  had 
intended  to  lay  out  entirely  on  a  magnificent  monument  to 
his  memory.  For  the  rest,  it  is  the  Marchesa  Raversi  who 
is  your  bitterest  enemy,  and  therefore  mine.  If  you  arc 
bored  at  Bologna,  you  have  only  to  say  one  word,  and  I 
will  go  to  you  there.  Here  are  four  more  bills  of  ex- 
change." 

The  duchess  never  told  Fabrizio  a  word  about  the  opin- 
ion concerning  his  business  which  prevailed  at  Parma.  Her 
first  object  was  to  console  him,  and  in  any  case  the  death  of 
such  an  absurd  person  as  Giletti  did  not  strike  her  as  matter 
of  any  serious  reproach  to  a  Del  Dongo. 

"  How  many  Gilettis  have  our  ancestors  sent  into  the 
next  world !  "  she  would  say  to  the  count ;  "  and  nobody  ever 
dreamed  of  finding  fault  with  them  for  it." 

Fabrizio,  filled  with  astonishment,  and  perceiving  for 
the  first  time  the  real  condition  of  things,  set  himself  to 
study  the  archbishop's  letter.  Unfortunately  the  archbishop 
himself  believed  him  better  informed  than  he  really  was. 
As  Fabrizio  understood  the  matter,  the  Marchesa  Raversi's 
triumph  rested  on  the  impossibility  of  discovering  any  eye- 
witnesses of  the  fatal  scuffle.  His  own  servant,  who  had  been 
the  first  to  bring  the  news  to  Parma,  had  been  inside  the 
village  tavern  at  Sang^igna  when  the  incident  occurred. 
Little  Marietta,  and  the  old  woman  who  acted  as  her  mother, 
had  disappeared,  and  the  marchesa  had  bought  over  the  man 

222 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

who  had  driven  the  carriage,  and  who  was  now  making  a 
deposition  of  the  most  abominable  kind.  "  Although  the 
proceedings  are  wrapped  in  the  deepest  mystery,"  wrote  the 
good  archbishop  in  his  Ciceronian  style,  "  and  directed  by 
Rassi,  of  whom  Christian  charity  forbids  me  to  speak  evil, 
but  who  has  made  his  fortune  by  pursuing  unfortunate 
beings  accused  of  crime,  even  as  the  hound  pursues  the  hare ; 
though  Rassi,  I  say,  whose  baseness  and  venality  you  can 
not  overrate,  has  been  charged  with  the  management  of  the 
trial  by  an  angry  prince,  I  have  obtained  a  sight  of  the  vet- 
turino's  three  depositions.  By  a  signal  piece  of  good  for- 
tune the  wretch  has  flatly  contradicted  himself,  and  I  will 
add,  seeing  I  speak  to  my  vicar-general,  who  will  rule  this 
diocese  when  I  am  gone,  that  I  sent  for  the  priest  of  the 
parish  in  which  this  wandering  sinner  dwells.  I  will  con- 
fide to  you,  my  very  dear  son,  though  under  the  secret  of 
the  confessional,  that  the  priest  already  knows,  through  the 
vetturino's  wife,  the  actual  number  of  crowns  her  husband 
has  received  from  the  Marchesa  Raversi.  I  will  not  dare 
to  say  that  the  marchesa  has  insisted  on  his  slandering  you, 
but  that  is  very  likely.  The  crowns  were  paid  over  by  a 
miserable  priest  who  performs  very  dubious  functions  in 
the  marchesa's  service,  and  whom  I  have  been  obliged,  for 
the  second  time,  to  prohibit  from  saying  mass.  I  will  not 
weary  you  with  the  recital  of  several  other  steps  which  you 
might  fairly  have  expected  from  me,  and  which,  indeed,  it 
was  only  my  duty  to  take.  A  canon,  a  colleague  of  yours 
at  the  cathedral,  who  is  occasionally  too  apt  to  remember 
the  influence  conferred  on  him  by  the  possession  of  the 
family  fortune,  of  which,  by  God's  will,  he  has  become  the 
sole  inheritor,  ventured  to  say,  in  the  house  of  Count  Zurla, 
Minister  of  the  Interior,  that  he  considered  this  trifle  clearly 
proved  against  you  (he  was  speaking  of  the  unhappy  Gi- 
letti's  murder).  I  summoned  him  to  my  palace,  and  there, 
in  presence  of  my  three  other  vicars-general,  of  my  chaplain, 
and  of  two  priests  who  happened  to  be  in  my  waiting-room,  I 
requested  him  to  enlighten  us,  his  brothers,  as  to  the  grounds 
on  which  he  based  the  complete  conviction  he  declared 
himself  to  have  acquired,  of  the  guilt  of  one  of  his  colleagues 

223 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

at  the  cathedral.  The  only  reasons  the  poor  wretch  could 
articulate  were  very  inconclusive.  Every  one  present  rose 
up  against  him,  and  although  I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
add  more  than  a  very  few  words,  he  burst  into  tears,  and  be- 
fore us  all  made  a  full  confession  of  his  complete  error. 
Whereupon  I  promised  him  secrecy,  in  my  own  name  and 
that  of  all  those  who  had  been  present  at  the  conference,  on 
condition,  however,  that  he  should  use  all  his  zeal  to  rectify 
the  false  impression  produced  by  the  remarks  he  had  been 
making  during  the  past  fortnight. 

"  I  will  not  repeat,  my  dear  son,  what  you  must  have 
known  for  long — that  out  of  the  four-and-thirty  peasants 
working  on  Count  Mosca's  excavation,  and  who,  according 
to  the  Raversi,  were  paid  to  assist  you  in  your  crime,  thirty- 
two  men  were  hard  at  work  at  the  bottom  of  their  ditch  at 
the  moment  when  you  seized  the  hunting-knife  and  used  it 
to  defend  your  life  against  the  man  who  had  so  unexpectedly 
attacked  you.  Two  of  them  who  were  not  in  the  ditch 
shouted  to  them,  *  He  is  murdering  monsignore ! '  This 
one  exclamation  is  a  brilliant  testimony  to  your  innocence. 
Well,  Rassi  declares  that  these  two  men  have  disappeared, 
and  further,  eight  of  the  men  who  were  in  the  trench  have 
been  found.  When  they  were  first  examined  six  of  these 
declared  they  had  heard  the  shout,  *  He  is  murdering  mon- 
signore ! '  I  know  indirectly  that  when  they  were  examined 
for  the  fifth  time,  yesterday  evening,  five  of  them  asserted 
that  they  could  not  remember  whether  they  had  actually 
heard  the  exclamation,  or  whether  they  had  been  told  of  it 
afterward,  by  one  of  their  comrades.  Orders  have  been 
given  which  will  make  me  acquainted  with  the  localities  in 
which  these  workmen  live,  and  their  priest  will  make  them 
understand  that  if  they  allow  themselves  to  be  tempted  to 
wrest  the  truth,  for  the  sake  of  earning  a  few  crowns,  they 
will  be  damned  everlastingly." 

The  good  archbishop  proceeded  with  infinite  detail,  as 
may  be  judged  by  what  we  have  already  reported.  Then 
he  added  these  lines  in  Latin : 

"  This  business  is  nothing  less  than  an  attempt  to  turn 
out  the  ministry.    If  you  are  sentenced  it  can  only  be  to  the 

224 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

galleys  or  to  execution.  In  that  case  I  should  intervene, 
and  declare,  with  all  the  weight  of  my  archiepiscopal  au- 
thority, that  I  know  you  to  be  innocent;  that  you  have 
simply  defended  your  life  against  a  rascal ;  and  further,  that 
I  have  forbidden  you  to  return  to  Parma  as  long  as  your 
enemies  triumph  there.  I  even  propose  to  brand  the  Min- 
ister of  Justice  as  he  deserves ;  the  hatred  felt  for  that  man 
is  as  common  as  esteem  for  his  character  is  rare.  But  on 
the  eve  of  the  day  whereon  the  minister  pronounces  so  un- 
just a  sentence,  the  Duchess  of  Sanseverina  will  leave  the 
city,  and  perhaps  even  the  dominion  of  Parma.  In  that 
case,  no  one  doubts  that  the  count  will  immediately  hand 
in  his  resignation.  Then,  most  probably,  General  Fabio 
Conti  will  be  made  minister,  and  the  Marchesa  Raversi  will 
triumph.  The  great  difficulty  about  your  business  is  that 
no  capable  man  has  been  placed  in  charge  of  the  steps  indis- 
pensable for  the  demonstration  of  your  innocence,  and  for 
the  frustration  of  the  attempts  being  made  to  suborn  wit- 
nesses. The  count  thinks  he  is  doing  this  himself,  but  he 
is  too  great  a  gentleman  to  condescend  to  certain  details, 
and  besides,  his  position  as  Minister  of  Police  obliged  him, 
at  the  very  outset,  to  issue  the  severest  orders  against  you. 
And  finally — dare  I  say  it? — our  sovereign  master  believes 
you  guilty,  or  simulates  the  belief,  at  all  events,  and  imports 
a  certain  bitterness  into  the  affair."  (The  words  correspond- 
ing to  our  sovereign  master  and  simtdates  the  belief  were 
in  Greek  characters,  and  Fabrizio  was  infinitely  grateful  to 
the  archbishop  for  having  dared  to  write  them  at  all.  He 
cut  the  line  out  of  the  letter  with  his  penknife,  and  instantly 
destroyed  it.) 

Twenty  times  over  Fabrizio  broke  off  in  the  perusal  of 
this  letter.  He  was  filled  with  the  deepest  and  most  lively 
gratitude,  and  instantly  wrote  a  letter  of  eight  pages  in 
reply.  Often  he  had  to  lift  his  head,  so  as  to  prevent  the 
tears  from  dropping  on  his  paper.  The  next  morning,  just 
as  he  was  about  to  seal  his  missive,  he  bethought  him  that  it 
was  too  worldly  in  tone.  "I  will  write  it  in  Latin,"  said  he 
to  himself ;  "  it  will  seem  more  correct  to  the  worthy  arch- 
bishop."   But  while  he  was  striving  to  turn  fine  long  Latin 

225 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

phrases,  careful  imitations  of  Cicero,  he  remembered  that 
one  day,  when  the  archbishop  had  been  speaking  to  him  of 
Napoleon,  he  had  made  it  a  point  to  call  him  "  Buonaparte.*' 
That  instant  every  trace  of  the  emotion  which,  only  the 
night  before,  had  affected  him  even  to  tears,  fled  utterly. 
"  Oh,  King  of  Italy !  "  he  cried,  "  the  faith  so  many  swore 
to  you  in  your  lifetime  shall  be  kept  by  me,  now  that  you 
are  no  more.  He  cares  for  me,  no  doubt,  but  that  is  be- 
cause I  am  a  Del  Dongo  and  he  the  son  of  a  common  man." 
So  that  his  fine  Italian  letter  might  not  be  wasted,  Fabrizio 
made  some  necessary  changes  in  it,  and  despatched  it  to 
Count  Mosca. 

That  very  some  day,  Fabrizio  met  little  Marietta  in  the 
street.  She  reddened  with  delight,  and  signed  to  him  to 
follow  without  speaking  to  her.  She  took  her  way  swiftly 
toward  a  lonely  portico ;  once  there,  she  drew  forward  the 
black  lace  which  covered  her  head,  in  the  fashion  of  that 
country,  so  that  no  one  could  recognise  her,  and  then, 
turning  round  sharply — 

"  How  is  it,"  said  she  to  Fabrizio,  "  that  you  are  walk- 
ing about  freely  in  the  streets  ? "  Fabrizio  told  her  his 
story. 

"  Great  heavens,  you've  been  to  Ferrara !  And  I  have 
been  hunting  for  you  everywhere.  You  must  know  that 
I  quarrelled  with  the  old  woman  because  she  wanted  to 
take  me  to  Venice,  where  I  knew  quite  well  you  would 
never  go,  because  you  are  on  the  Austrian  black  list.  I 
sold  my  gold  necklace  to  get  to  Bologna.  Something  told 
me  I  should  have  the  happiness  of  meeting  you  here,  and 
the  old  woman  arrived  two  days  after  me.  I  would  not 
advise  you  to  visit  us,  because  she  would  make  more  of 
those  shabby  attempts  to  get  money  out  of  you,  of  which 
I  am  so  ashamed.  We  have  lived  very  comfortably  since 
that  fatal  day  you  know  of,  and  we  have  not  spent  a  quarter 
of  what  you  gave  her.  I  should  not  like  to  go  to  see  you  at 
the  Albergo  del  Pellegrino ;  that  would  be  a  publicity.  Try 
to  hire  some  little  room  in  a  lonely  street,  and  at  the  Ave 
Maria  (nightfall)  I  will  be  here  under  this  same  portico." 

Having  said  these  words,  she  took  to  flight. 

226 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  unexpected  appearance  of  this  charming  young 
person  drove  every  serious  thought  away.  Fabrizio  Hved 
on  at  Bologna  with  a  sense  of  the  deepest  deHght  and  se- 
curity. His  artless  propensity  to  find  happiness  in  anything 
which  filled  his  life,  betrayed  itself  in  his  letters  to  the 
duchess,  and  to  such  a  point  as  to  annoy  her. 

Fabrizio  hardly  noticed  it ;  only  he  noted  in  abbreviated 
signs  on  the  dial  plate  of  his  watch,  "  When  I  write  to  the 
duchess  I  must  never  say  '  when  I  was  a  prelate,  when 
I  was  a  churchman ' — it  vexes  her."  He  had  bought  a 
pair  of  ponies,  with  which  he  was  very  much  pleased,  and 
harnessed  them  to  a  hired  chaise  whenever  little  Marietta 
had  a  fancy  to  go  and  see  one  of  the  delightful  spots  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Bologna.  Almost  every  evening  he 
drove  her  to  the  Reno  Cascade.  On  the  way  back  he  would 
stop  at  the  house  of  the  good-natured  Crescentini,  who 
rather  believed  himself  to  be  Marietta's  father. 

"  Faith,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  if  this  be  the  cafe 
life  which  struck  me  as  being  so  absurd  for  any  serious  man 
to  lead,  I  did  wrong  to  turn  up  my  nose  at  it."  He  forgot 
that  he  never  went  near  a  cafe  except  to  read  the  Constitu- 
tionnel,  and  that  as  he  was  utterly  unknown  to  any  one  in 
Bologna,  the  pleasures  of  vanity  had  nothing  to  do  with 
his  present  state  of  felicity.  When  he  was  not  with  little 
Marietta,  he  was  to  be  seen  at  the  observatory,  where  he  was 
attending  a  course  of  astronomy.  The  professor  had  taken 
a  great  fancy  to  him,  and  Fabrizio  would  lend  him  his  horses 
on  a  Sunday,  so  that  he  and  his  wife  might  go  and  ruffle  it 
in  the  Corso  of  the  Montagnola. 

He  had  a  horror  of  making  any  one  unhappy,  however 
unworthy  the  person  might  be.     Marietta  would  not  hear 

227 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

of  his  seeing  the  mamaccia,  but  one  day,  when  she  was  in 
church,  he  went  up  to  the  old  woman's  room.  She  flushed 
with  anger  when  she  saw  him  enter.  "  I  must  play  the  Del 
Dongo  here,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself.  "  How  much  does 
Marietta  earn  a  month  when  she  has  an  engagement  ? "  he 
called  out,  with  very  much  the  same  air  as  that  with  which 
a  self-respecting  young  Parisian  takes  his  seat  in  the  balcon 
at  the  Opera  Bouffe. 

"  Fifty  crowns." 

"  You  lie,  as  usual.  Tell  me  the  truth,  or,  by  God,  you'll 
not  get  a  centime." 

"  Well,  she  was  earning  twenty-two  crowns  in  our  com- 
pany at  Parma,  when  we  were  so  unlucky  as  to  meet  you. 
I  earned  twelve  crowns,  and  we  each  gave  Giletti,  our  pro- 
tector, a  third  of  our  earnings ;  on  that  Giletti  made  Marietta 
a  present  almost  every  month  —  something  like  two 
crowns " 

"  You  lie  again ;  you  only  earned  four  crowns.  But  if 
you  are  good  to  Marietta,  I  will  engage  you  as  if  I  were 
an  impresario.  You  shall  have  twelve  crowns  for  yourself 
every  month,  and  twenty-two  for  her,  but  if  I  see  her  eyes 
red  once  I  shall  go  bankrupt." 

"  You're  mighty  proud  of  yourself !  Well,  let  me  tell 
you,  your  fine  generosity  is  ruining  us,"  rejoined  the  old 
woman  furiously.  "  We  are  losing  I'amnamento  [our  cus- 
tom]. When  we  have  the  crushing  misfortune  of  losing 
your  Excellency's  protection,  no  comedy  company  will  know 
anything  about  us.  They  will  all  be  full,  we  shall  find  no 
engagement,  and,  thanks  to  you,  we  shall  die  of  hunger." 

"  Go  to  the  devil !  "  said  Fabrizio,  departing. 

"  I  will  not  go  to  the  devil,  you  ungodly  wretch !  But  I 
will  go  straight  to  the  police,  and  they  shall  know  from  me 
that  you  are  a  monsignore  who  has  cast  away  his  cassock, 
and  that  Giuseppe  Bossi  is  no  more  your  name  than  it's 
mine." 

Fabrizio  had  already  descended  several  steps ;  he  turned 
and  came  back.  "  In  the  first  place,  the  police  probably 
know  my  real  name  better  than  you  do.  But,  if  you  venture 
to  denounce  me,  if  you  dare  to  do  anything  so  infamous,'* 

228 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

he  said  very  seriously,  "  Ludovico  will  talk  to  you,  and  it 
will  not  be  six  knife  thrusts  that  you  will  have  in  your  old 
carcass,  but  four  times  six,  and  you  will  spend  six  months 
in  hospital,  and  without  tobacco." 

The  hag  turned  pale,  rushed  at  Fabrizio's  hand,  and 
tried  to  kiss  it 

"  I  accept  what  you  are  ready  to  do  for. me  and  Marietta 
thankfully ;  you  looked  so  good-natured  that  I  took  you  for 
a  simpleton.  And  consider  this  well ;  other  people  might 
make  the  same  mistake.  I  would  advise  you  to  look  more 
like  a  great  gentleman,  as  a  rule."  Then  she  added,  with 
the  most  admirable  impudence,  "  You  will  think  over  this 
piece  of  good  advice,  and,  as  winter  is  not  far  off,  you  will 
make  Marietta  and  me  each  a  present  of  a  good  coat  of  that 
fine  English  stuff  in  the  big  shop  on  the  Piazza  San  Pe- 
tronio." 

The  pretty  Marietta's  love  offered  Fabrizio  all  the 
charms  of  the  most  tender  friendship,  and  this  made  him 
think  of  the  happiness  of  the  same  description  he  might 
have  found  in  the  company  of  the  duchess. 

"  But  is  it  not  a  very  comical  thing,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "  that  I  am  not  capable  of  that  exclusive  and  passionate 
preoccupation  which  men  call  love?  Amid  all  my  chance 
liaisons,  at  Novara  or  at  Naples,  did  I  ever  meet  a  woman 
whose  presence  I  preferred,  even  in  the  earliest  days,  to  a 
ride  on  a  good-looking  horse  that  I  had  never  mounted  be- 
fore ?  Can  it  be,"  he  added,  "  that  what  is  called  '  love '  is 
yet  another  lie?  I  love,  of  course,  just  as  I  am  hungry  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Can  it  be  that  this  somewhat 
vulgar  propensity  is  what  these  liars  have  lifted  into  the 
love  of  Othello  and  the  love  of  Tancred?  Or  must  I  be- 
lieve that  my  organization  is  different  from  that  of  other 
men.  What  if  no  passion  should  ever  touch  my  heart  ?  That 
would  be  a  strange  fate !  " 

At  Naples,  especially  toward  the  close  of  his  residence 
there,  Fabrizio  had  met  women  who,  proud  of  their  rank, 
their  beauty,  and  the  worldly  position  of  the  adorers  they 
had  sacrificed  to  him,  had  tried  to  govern  him.  At  the  very 
first  inkling  of  their  plans  Fabrizio  had  broken  with  them 

229 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

in  the  promptest  and  most  scandalous  manner.  "  Now," 
said  he,  "  if  I  ever  allow  myself  to  be  carried  away  by  the 
pleasure,  no  doubt  a  very  keen  one,  of  being  on  good  terms 
with  that  pretty  woman  known  as  the  Duchess  Sanseverina, 
I  am  exactly  like  the  blundering  Frenchman  who  killed  the 
hen  that  laid  the  golden  eggs.  To  the  duchess  I  owe  the 
only  happiness  with  which  a  tender  feeling  has  ever  inspired 
me.  My  affection  for  her  is  my  life ;  and  besides,  apart 
from  her  what  am  I?  A  miserable  exile  condemned  to  a 
hand-to-mouth  existence,  in  a  ruinous  castle  near  Novara.  I 
remember  that  when  the  great  autumn  rains  came  I  used  to 
be  obliged  to  fasten  an  umbrella  over  the  head  of  my  bed, 
for  fear  of  accidents.  I  used  to  ride  the  agent's  horses, 
and  he  just  allowed  it  out  of  respect  for  my  blue  blood 
(and  my  muscular  strength).  But  he  was  beginning  to  think 
I  had  stayed  there  too  long.  My  father  allowed  me  twelve 
hundred  francs  a  year,  and  thought  himself  damned  because 
he  was  supporting  a  Jacobin.  My  poor  mother  and  my 
sisters  went  without  gowns  so  as  to  enable  me  to  make 
some  trifling  presents  to  my  mistresses.  This  kind  of  gen- 
erosity used  to  wring  my  heart,  and  besides,  my  state  of 
penury  was  beginning  to  be  suspected,  and  the  young  noble- 
men in  the  neighbourhood  would  soon  have  been  pitying 
me.  Sooner  or  later  some  coxcomb  would  have  betrayed 
his  scorn  for  a  poor  and  unsuccessful  Jacobin,  for  in  their 
eyes  I  was  nothing  else.  I  should  have  bestowed  or  re- 
ceived some  hearty  sword  thrust,  which  would  have 
brought  me  to  the  fortress  of  Fenestrella  or  forced  me  to 
take  refuge  in  Switzerland  once  more — still  with  my  twelve 
hundred  francs  a  year.  To  the  duchess  I  owe  the  happi- 
ness of  having  escaped  all  these  ills,  and  further,  she  it  is 
who  feels  for  me  those  transports  of  affection  which  I  ought 
to  feel  for  her. 

"  Instead  of  the  ridiculous  and  shabby  existence  which 
would  have  turned  me  into  that  sorry  animal,  a  fool,  I  have 
spent  four  years  in  a  great  city,  and  with  an  excellent  car- 
riage, which  has  prevented  me  from  feeling  envy,  and  other 
low  provincial  sentiments.  This  aunt,  in  her  extreme  kind- 
ness, is  always  scolding  me  because  I  do  not  draw  enough 

230 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

money  from  her  banker.  Shall  I  spoil  this  admirable  posi- 
tion forever?  Shall  I  lose  the  only  friend  I  have  in  the 
world?  All  I  have  to  do  is  to  tell  her  a  lie,  and  say  to  a 
charming  woman,  who  probably  has  not  her  equal  in  the 
world,  and  for  whom  I  have  the  most  passionate  regard,  *  I 
love  you.'  This  from  me,  who  do  not  know  what  real  love 
means !  She  would  spend  whole  days  reproaching  me 
with  the  absence  of  those  transports  which  I  have  never 
known.  Now,  Marietta,  who  can  not  see  into  my  heart,  and 
who  takes  a  caress  for  an  outburst  of  passion,  thinks  me 
madly  in  love  with  her,  and  believes  herself  the  happiest 
of  living  women." 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  only  slight  acquaintance  that 
I  have  ever  had  with  that  tender  absorption  which  is,  I 
believe,  denominated  love,  was  for  that  young  girl  Aniken, 
at  the  inn  at  Zonders,  near  the  Belgian  frontier." 

It  is  with  much  regret  that  we  must  here  relate  one  of 
Fabrizio's  worst  actions.  In  the  midst  of  his  tranquil  life, 
a  foolish  sting  to  his  vanity  took  possession  of  the  heart 
which  love  could  not  vanquish,  and  carried  him  quite  oflf  his 
feet.     Living  in  Bologna  at  the  same  time  as  himself,  was 

the  celebrated  Fausta  F ,  undoubtedly  one  of  the  first 

singers  of  our  time,  and  perhaps  the  most  capricious  woman 
ever  seen.  The  gifted  Venetian  poet  Burati  had  written  a 
famous  satirical  sonnet  concerning  her,  which,  at  that  time, 
was  in  the  mouth  of  every  one,  from  princes  to  the  lowest 
urchins  in  the  street : — 

"  To  will  and  not  to  will,  to  adore  and  detest  in  one  and 
the  same  day,  to  find  no  happiness  save  in  inconstancy,  to 
scorn  that  which  the  world  adores,  so  long  as  the  world 
adores  it — Fausta  has  all  these  faults  and  many  more. 
Wherefore,  never  cast  your  eyes  upon  the  serpent;  if  once 
thou  seest  her,  oh,  imprudent  man,  all  her  caprices  are  for- 
gotten. If  thou  hast  the  happiness  of  hearing  her,  thou  for- 
gettest  even  thyself,  and  love,  at  that  moment,  makes  of 
thee  what  Circe  once  made  the  comrades  of  Ulysses." 

Just  at  that  moment  this  miracle  of  beauty  was  so  fas- 
cinated by  the  huge  whiskers  and  overweening  insolence 
of  the  young  Count  M that  even  his  abominable  jealousy 

231 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

did  not  revolt  her.  Fabrizio  saw  the  count  in  the  streets 
of  Bologna,  and  was  nettled  by  the  air  of  superiority  with 
which  he  swaggered  along  the  pavements,  and  graciously 
condescended  to  show  off  his  charms  before  the  public.  The 
young  man  was  very  rich,  believed  he  might  venture  any- 
thing, and  as  his  prepotenzi  had  earned  him  several  threats, 
he  hardly  ever  appeared  unaccompanied  by  eight  or  ten 
hull  (a  sort  of  ruffian)  who  wore  his  liveries,  and  came 
from  his  property  near  Brescia. 

Once  or  twice,  when  he  had  chanced  to  hear  the  Fausta 
sing,  Fabrizio  had  crossed  g-lances  with  the  doughty  count. 
He  was  astonished  by  the  angelic  sweetness  of  her  voice ; 
he  had  never  dreamed  of  anything  like  it.  It  gave  him  sen- 
sations of  supreme  delight,  a  fine  contrast  to  the  placidity  of 
his  existence.  "  Can  this,  at  last,  be  love?  "  said  he  to  him- 
self. Full  of  curiosity  to  feel  the  passion,  and  amused,  too, 
by  the  idea  of  braving  the  count,  who  looked  far  more 
threatening  than  any  drum-major,  our  hero  committed  the 
childish  folly  of  appearing  much  too  frequently  in  front  of 
the  Palazzo  Tanari,  in  which  the  count  had  installed  the 
Fausta. 

One  day,  toward  nightfall,  Fabrizio,  who  was  trying  to 
make  Fausta  look  at  him,  was  greeted  by  shrieks  of  laugh- 
ter, evidently  intentional,  from  the  count's  huli,  who  were 
standing  round  the  door  of  the  palace.  He  hurried  home, 
armed  himself  well,  and  returned. 

Fausta,  hidden  behind  her  sun-blinds,  was  expecting  this 
return,  and  noted  it  down  to  his  credit.  The  count,  who  was 
jealous  of  everybody  on  earth,  became  especially  jealous  of 
Signor  Giuseppe  Bossi,  and  indulged  in  all  sorts  of  absurd 
threats,  whereupon  our  hero  sent  him  a  letter  every  morn- 
ing containing  nothing  but  these  words :  "  Sigtior  Giuseppe 
Bossi  destroys  vermin,  and  lives  at  the  Pellegrino,  in  the  Via 
Larga,  No.  79." 

Count  M ,  inured  to  the  respect  ensured  him  every- 
where by  his  great  fortune,  his  blue  blood,  and  the  bravery 
of  his  thirty  serving-men,  refused  to  understand  the  lan- 
guage of  the  little  note. 

Fabrizio  wrote  more  notes  to  the  Fausta.    M set 

232 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

spies  upon  his  rival,  who  was  not,  perhaps,  unpleasing  to 
the  lady.  He  first  of  all  learned  his  real  name,  and  that,  for 
the  moment,  at  all  events,  he  did  not  dare  to  show  his  face 

in  Parma.    A  few  days  later  Count  M ,  with  his  buli, 

his  splendid  horses,  and  Fausta,  all  departed  to  Parma. 

Fabrizio,  warming  to  the  game,  followed  them  next 
morning.  In  vain  did  the  faithful  Ludovico  remonstrate 
pathetically  with  him.  Fabrizio  would  not  listen,  and  Ludo- 
vico, who  was  a  brave  man  himself,  admired  him  for  it.  Be- 
sides, this  journey  would  bring  him  nearer  his  own  pretty 
mistress  at  Casal-Maggiore.  By  Ludovico's  care,  eight  or 
ten  old  soldiers  who  had  served  in  Napoleon's  regiments, 
entered  Sig^or  Giuseppe  Bossi's  service,  nominally  as  serv- 
ants. 

"  If,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  when  I  commit  this 
folly  of  going  after  the  Fausta,  I  only  hold  no  communica- 
tion with  the  Minister  of  Police,  Count  Mosca,  nor  with 
the  duchess,  I  risk  no  one  but  myself.  Later  on  I  will  tell 
my  aunt  that  I  did  it  all  in  search  of  love,  that  beautiful  thing 
that  I  have  never  been  able  to  discover.  The  fact  is  that  I 
do  think  about  Fausta,  even  when  I  don't  see  her;  but  is 
it  the  memory  of  her  voice  that  I  love,  or  is  it  her  person  ?  " 

As  he  had  given  up  all  thoughts  of  the  Church  as  a 
career,  Fabrizio  had  grown  moustaches  and  whiskers  almost 
as  tremendous  as  those  of  Count  M ,  and  these  some- 
what disguised  him.  He  established  his  headquarters,  not 
at  Parma — that  would  have  been  too  imprudent — but  in  a 
village  hard  by,  on  the  road  to  Sacca,  where  his  aunt's 
country  house  was  situated.  Advised  by  Ludovico,  he  gave 
himself  out  in  the  village  as  the  valet  of  a  very  eccentric 
English  nobleman  who  spent  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
a  year  on  sport,  and  who  was  shortly  to  arrive  from  the 
Lake  of  Como,  where  he  was  detained  by  the  trout-fishing. 

Fortunately  the  pretty  little  palace  which  Count  M 

had  hired  for  the  fair  Fausta  stood  at  the  southernmost  end 
of  the  town  of  Parma,  and  just  on  the  Sacca  road,  and 
Fausta's  windows  looked  on  to  the  fine  avenues  of  tall  trees 
which  stretch  away  below  the  high  tower  of  the  citadel. 

Fabrizio  was  not  known  in  that  lonely  quarter  of  the 

233 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

town.    He  did  not  fail  to  have  Count  M followed,  and 

one  day,  when  he  had  just  left  the  exquisite  singer's  house, 
Fabrizio  was  bold  enough  to  appear  in  the  street  in  broad 
daylight.  He  was  well  armed,  indeed,  and  mounted  on  an 
excellent  horse.  Musicians,  such  as  are  constantly  found  in 
the  Italian  streets,  and  who  occasionally  are  very  good  in- 
deed, ranged  themselves  with  their  instruments  under  the 
Fausta's  windows,  and,  after  some  introductory  chords,  sang, 
very  fairly,  a  cantata  in  her  honour.  Fausta  appeared  at 
the  window,  and  her  attention  was  easily  caught  by  a  very 
courteous  young  gentleman,  who  first  of  all  saluted  her, 
and  then  began  to  bombard  her  with  most  significant 
glances.  In  spite  of  the  exaggeratedly  English  dress  Fa- 
brizio had  donned,  she  soon  recognised  the  sender  of  the 
passionate  letters  which  had  brought  about  her  departure 
from  Bologna.  "  This  is  a  strange  being,"  said  she  to  her- 
self. "  I  fancy  I  am  going  to  fall  in  love  with  him.  I  have 
a  hundred  louis  in  my  pocket.  I  can  very  well  aflford  to 
break  with  the  terrible  count.  He  really  has  no  intelligence, 
and  there  is  nothing  novel  about  him ;  the  only  thing  that 
rather  entertains  me  is  the  frightful  appearance  of  his  fol- 
lowers." 

The  next  morning  Fabrizio,  having  heard  that  the 
Fausta  went  to  mass  every  day  about  eleven  o'clock,  in  that 
very  church  of  San  Giovanni  which  contained  the  tomb  of 
his  great-uncle,  the  Archbishop  Ascanio  del  Dongo,  ven- 
tured to  follow  her  there.  It  must  be  said  that  Ludovico 
had  provided  him  with  a  fine  English  wig  of  the  brightest 
red  hair.  A  propos  to  the  colour  of  these  locks — that  of 
the  flame  which  devoured  his  heart — he  wrote  a  sonnet 
which  delighted  the  Fausta.  An  unknown  hand  had  laid 
it  carefully  on  her  piano.  This  manoeuvring  went  on  for 
quite  a  week,  but  Fabrizio  felt  that  in  spite  of  all  his  various 
efforts,  he  was  making  no  real  prc^gress. 

Fausta  refused  to  receive  him.  He  had  overdone  his 
eccentricity,  and  she  has  since  acknowledged  that  she  was 
afraid  of  him.  Fabrizio  still  retained  a  faint  hope  of  arriving 
at  the  sensation  which  is  known  as  love,  but  in  the  mean- 
while, he  was  very  often  sorely  bored. 

234 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Sir,  let  us  take  ourselves  off,"  said  Ludovico  to  him 
over  and  over  again.  "  You  are  not  the  least  in  love ;  your 
coolness  and  reasonableness  are  quite  hopeless,  and  besides, 
you  make  no  progress  whatsoever.  Let  us  decamp,  for  very 
shame." 

In  the  first  flush  of  disgust,  Fabrizio  was  on  the  very 
point  of  departing.  Then  he  heard  that  the  Fausta  was  to 
sing  at  the  Duchess  Sanseverina's  house.  "  Perhaps  that 
sublime  voice  will  really  set  my  heart  on  fire  at  last," 
thought  he,  and  he  actually  dared  to  introduce  himself,  in 
disguise,  into  his  aunt's  palace,  where  every  one  knew  him. 

The  emotion  of  the  duchess  may  be  imagined,  when, 
quite  toward  the  end  of  the  concert,  she  noticed  a  man  in  a 
chasseur's  livery  standing  near  the  door  of  the  great  draw- 
ing-room ;  something  in  his  appearance  stirred  her  memory. 
She  sought  Count  Mosca,  and  it  was  not  until  then  that  he 
informed  her  of  Fabrizio's  extraordinary  and  really  incom- 
prehensible folly.  He  took  the  matter  very  well — this  love 
for  somebody  who  was  not  the  duchess  was  very  agree- 
able to  him — and  the  count,  who,  politics  apart,  was  a  man 
of  perfect  honour,  acted  on  the  maxim  that  his  own  happi- 
ness depended  entirely  on  that  of  the  duchess.  "  I  will 
save  him  from  himself,"  said  he  to  his  friend.  "  Imagine 
our  enemies'  delight  if  he  were  arrested  in  this  very  palace ! 
So  I  have  posted  a  hundred  men  of  my  own  in  the  house, 
and  it  was  on  this  account  that  I  asked  you  to  give  me  the 
keys  of  the  great  water-tank.  He  gives  himself  out  as  being 
desperately  in  love  with  the  Fausta,  and  hitherto  he  has 

not  been  able  to  carry  her  off  from  Count  M ,  who  gives 

the  giddy  creature  all  the  luxuries  of  a  queen." 

The  liveliest  sorrow  was  painted  on  the  features  of  the 
duchess. 

Fabrizio  was  nothing  more  than  a  libertine,  then — inca- 
pable of  any  tender  or  serious  feeling !  "  And  not  to  see 
us !  That  is  what  I  shall  never  be  able  to  forgive  him,"  she 
said  at  last.  "  And  I,  who  am  writting  to  him  every  day, 
to  Bologna " 

"  I  give  him  great  credit  for  his  self-restraint,"  said 
the  count.     "  He  does  not  desire  to  compromise  us  by  his 

235 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

freak,  and  it  will  be  very  amusing  to  hear  his  account  of 
it  later." 

The  Fausta  was  too  giddy-pated  to  be  able  to  hold  her 
tongue  about  anything  which  occupied  her  thoughts.  The 
morning  after  the  concert,  during  which  she  had  sung  all 
her  airs  at  the  tall  young  man  dressed  as  a  chasseur,  she 
referred,  in  conversation  with  the  count,  to  an  unknown  and 
attentive  individual.  "  Where  do  you  see  him  ?  "  inquired 
the  count  in  a  fury.  "  In  the  streets,  in  church,"  replied  the 
Fausta,  in  confusion.  She  immediately  tried  to  repair  her 
imprudence,  or  at  all  events  to  remove  any  idea  which 
could  recall  Fabrizio's  person.  She  launched  into  an  endless 
description  of  a  tall  red-haired  young  man  with  blue  eyes, 
some  very  rich  and  clumsy  Englishman,  doubtless,  or  else 
some  prince.  At  this  word  the  count,  the  definiteness  of 
whose  impressions  was  their  only  virtue,  jumped  to  the 
conclusion — a  delightful  one  for  his  vanity — that  his  rival  was 
none  other  than  the  hereditary  Prince  of  Parma.  This  poor 
melancholy  youth,  watched  over  by  five  or  six  governors, 
sub-governors,  tutors,  etc.,  who  never  allowed  him  to  go 
out  without  holding  a  preliminary  council,  was  in  the  habit 
of  casting  strange  looks  at  every  decent-looking  woman 
whom  he  was  allowed  to  approach.  At  the  duchess's  con- 
cert he  had  been  seated,  as  his  rank  demanded,  in  front  of 
all  the  other  auditors,  in  a  separate  arm-chair,  and  three 
paces  from  the  fair  Fausta,  and  had  gazed  at  her  in  a  man- 
ner which  had  caused  excessive  vexation  to  the  count. 
This  delightful  piece  of  wild  vanity,  the  idea  of  having  a 
prince  for  his  rival,  entertained  Fausta  vastly,  and  she 
amused  herself  by  strengthening  it  with  a  hundred  details, 
imparted  in  the  most  apparently  artless  fashion. 

"  Is  your  family,"  said  she  to  the  count,  "  as  old  as  that 
of  the  Farnese,  to  which  this  young  man  belongs  ?  " 

"  As  old !  What  do  you  mean  ?  There  are  no  bastards 
in  my  family."  * 

*  Pietro  Luigi,  the  first  sovereign  of  the  Farnese  family,  so  famous 
for  his  virtues,  was,  as  is  well  known,  the  natural  son  of  Pope 
Paul  III. 

236 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

It  so  fell  out  that  Count  M never  could  get  a  clear 

view  of  his  pretended  rival,  and  this  confirmed  his  flatter- 
ing conviction  that  he  had  a  prince  for  his  antagonist.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  Fabrizio,  when  the  necessities  of  his  enter- 
prise did  not  summon  him  to  Parma,  spent  his  time  in  the 
woods  near  Sacca,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  Po.     Count 

M had  grown  more  haughty  than  ev6r,  but  far  more 

prudent,  too,  since  he  had  believed  himself  to  be  disputing 
Fausta's  affections  with  a  prince.  He  besought  her  very 
earnestly  to  behave  with  the  utmost  reserve  in  everything 
she  did. 

After  casting  himself  at  her  feet,  like  a  jealous  and  pas- 
sionate lover,  he  told  her  very  plainly  that  his  honour  de- 
manded that  she  should  not  be  duped  by  the  young  prince. 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  replied.  "  I  should  not  be  his  dupe 
if  I  loved  him.    I  have  never  yet  seen  a  prince  at  my  feet." 

"  If  you  yield,"  he  responded,  with  a  haughty  look,  "  I 
may  not,  perhaps,  be  able  to  avenge  myself  on  the  prince, 
but  vengeance  I  will  have,  you  may  be  certain,"  and  he  went 
out,  banging  the  doors  behind  him.  Had  Fabrizio  made 
his  appearance  at  that  moment,  he  would  have  won  his  cause. 

"  If  you  value  your  life,"  said  Count  M to  her  that 

evening,  as  he  took  leave  of  her  after  the  play,  "  see  to  it 
that  I  never  find  out  that  the  young  prince  has  entered  your 
house.  I  can  do  nothing  to  him,  but  s'death,  madam,  do 
not  force  me  to  remember  that  I  can  do  anything  I  please 
to  you ! " 

"  Ah,  my  little  Fabrizio,"  exclaimed  the  Fausta,  "  if  I 
only  knew  where  to  lay  my  hand  on  you !  " 

Wounded  vanity  may  drive  a  wealthy  young  man,  who 
has  been  surrounded  by  flatterers  since  his  birth,  into  many 
things.  The  very  real  passion  with  which  the  Fausta  had 
inspired  Count  M burned  up  again  furiously.  The  dan- 
gerous prospect  of  a  struggle  with  the  only  son  of  the  sover- 
eign in  whose  country  he  was  sojourning  did  not  daunt  him, 
and  at  the  same  time  he  was  not  clever  enough  to  make  any 
attempt  to  get  a  sight  of  the  prince,  or  at  least  have  him  fol- 
lowed. As  he  could  discover  no  other  method  of  attack, 
M ventured  on  the  idea  of  making  him  look  ridiculous. 

237 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  I  shall  be  banished  forever  from  the  dominion  of  Parma," 
said  he.    "  Well,  what  matter  ?  " 

If  he  had  made  any  attempt  to  reconnoitre  the  enemy's 

position,  Count  M would  have  discovered  that  the  poor 

young  prince  never  went  out  of  doors  except  in  the  com- 
pany of  three  or  four  old  men,  the  tiresome  guardians  of 
official  etiquette,  and  that  the  only  pleasure  of  his  own 
choice  in  which  he  was  allowed  to  indulge,  was  his  taste  for 
mineralogy.  Both  in  the  daytime,  and  at  night,  the  little 
Palazzo  occupied  by  Fausta,  and  to  which  the  best  company 

in  Parma  crowded,  was  surrounded  by  watchers.     M 

was  kept  informed,  hour  by  hour,  of  what  she  was  doing, 
and  especially  of  what  was  done  by  those  about  her.  One 
point,  at  least,  was  praiseworthy,  in  the  precautions  taken 
by  the  jealous  man — the  lady,  whimsical  as  she  was,  had 
no  suspicion,  at  first,  of  the  increasing  watchfulness  about 

her.    All  Count  M 's  agents  reported  that  a  very  young 

man,  wearing  a  wig  of  red  hair,  constantly  appeared  under 
the  Fausta's  windows,  but  every  time  in  some  fresh  dis- 
guise.    "  Clearly  that  is  the  young  prince,"  said  M to 

himself ;  "  otherwise  why  should  he  disguise  himself  ? 
Egad,  I  am  not  the  man  to  make  way  for  him !  But  for  the 
usurpations  of  the  Venetian  republic  I  should  now  be  a 
reigning  prince  like  him." 

On  San  Stefano's  Day  the  spies'  reports  grew  more 
gloomy ;  they  seemed  to  indicate  that  the  Fausta  was  begin- 
ning to  respond  to  her  unknown  admirer's  attentions.  "  I 
might  depart  instantly,  and  take  the  woman  with  me,"  said 

M to  himself,  "  but  I  fled  from  Bologna  before  Del 

Dongo.  Here  I  should  flee  before  a  prince,  and  what  would 
the  young  man  say?  He  might  think  he  had  contrived  to 
frighten  me,  and  on  my  soul,  my  family  is  as  good  as  his ! " 

M was  beside  himself  with  rage,  and  to  crown  his 

misery,  his  great  object  was  to  prevent  his  jealousy  from 
making  him  look  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  Fausta,  with 
whose  jeering  disposition  he  was  well  acquainted.  There- 
fore, on  San  Stefano's  Day,  after  having  spent  an  hour  with 
her,  and  received  a  welcome  which  seemed  to  him  the  very 
acme  of  falsehood,  he  left  her,  toward  eleven  o'clock,  when 

238 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

she  was  dressing  to  go  and  hear  mass  at  the  Church  of  San 

Giovanni,    Count  M returned  to  his  rooms,  put  on  the 

shabby  black  dress  of  a  young  theological  student,  and  hur- 
ried off  to  San  Giovanni.  He  chose  out  a  place  behind  one 
of  the  tombs  which  adorned  the  third  chapel  on  the  right. 
Under  the  arm  of  a  cardinal,  who  was  represented  kneeling 
on  this  tomb,  he  could  see  everything  that  went  on  in  the 
church.  The  statue  blocked  the  light  within  the  chapel,  and 
concealed  him  very  sufficiently.  Soon  he  saw  Fausta  enter, 
looking  more  beautiful  than  ever.  She  was  in  full  dress,  and 
twenty  admirers  of  the  highest  rank  attended  her.  Smiles 
and  delight  shone  on  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes.  "  Clearly," 
thought  the  unhappy  man,  "  she  is  expecting  to  meet  the 
man  she  loves,  and  whom,  thanks  to  me,  she  has  perhaps 
not  been  able  to  see  for  a  long  time." 

Suddenly  the  liveliest  expression  of  happiness  shone  in 

Fausta's  eyes,    "  My  rival  is  here,"  said  M to  himself, 

and  the  fury  of  his  wounded  vanity  knew  no  bounds. 
"  What  am  I  doing  here,  acting  as  counter-weight  to  a 
young  prince  who  puts  on  disguises  ?  "  But,  hard  as  he 
tried,  he  could  not  discover  the  rival  whom  his  hungry 
glance  sought  on  every  side.  Every  instant  the  Fausta,  after 
looking  all  round  the  church,  would  fix  her  eyes,  heavy  with 

love  and  happiness,  on  the  dark  corner  in  which  M^ 

stood  concealed.  In  a  passionate  heart,  love  is  apt  to  exag- 
gerate the  very  slightest  things,  and  deduce  consequences 

of  the  most  ridiculous  nature.    Thus,  poor  M ended  by 

persuading  himself  that  the  Fausta  had  caught  sight  of  him, 
and  that,  having  perceived  his  mortal  jealousy,  in  spite  of 
his  desperate  efforts  to  conceal  it,  she  was  seeking,  by  her 
tender  glances,  at  once  to  reproach  and  to  console  him. 

The  cardinal's  tomb,  behind  which  he  had  taken  up  his 
post  of  observation,  was  raised  some  four  or  five  feet  above 
the  marble  pavement  of  San  Giovanni.  When,  toward  one 
o'clock,  the  fashionable  mass  was  brought  to  a  close,  most 
of  the  congregation  departed,  and  the  Fausta  dismissed  the 
city  beaux  on  the  pretext  that  she  desired  to  perform  her 
devotions.  She  remained  kneeling  on  her  chair,  and  her 
eyes,  which  had  grown  softer  and  more  brilliant  than  ever, 

239 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

rested  on  M .    Now  that  only  a  few  persons  remained  in 

the  church,  she  did  not  take  the  trouble  of  looking  all  round 
it  before  allowing  them  to  dwell  with  delight  on  the  car- 
dinal's statue.    "  What  delicacy !  "  said  Count  M ,  who 

thought  she  was  gazing  at  him.  At  last  the  Fausta  rose  and 
went  quickly  out  of  church,  after  having  made  some  curious 
motions  with  her  hands. 

M ,  drunk  with  love,  and  almost  wholly  cured  of  his 

foolish  jealousy,  was  leaving  his  place  to  fly  to  his  mis- 
tress's palace  and  overwhelm  her  with  his  gratitude,  when, 
as  he  passed  in  front  of  the  cardinal's  tomb,  he  noticed  a 
young  man  all  in  black.  This  fatal  being  had  remained 
kneeling  close  against  the  epitaph  on  the  tomb  in  such  a 
position  that  the  lover's  jealous  eyes  had  passed  over  his 
head,  and  so  failed  to  catch  sight  of  him. 

The  young  man  rose,  moved  quickly  away,  and  was 
instantly  surrounded  by  seven  or  eight  rather  awkward  and 

odd-looking  fellows,  who  seemed  to  belong  to  him.    M 

rushed  after  him,  but,  without  any  too  evident  effort,  the 
clumsy  men,  who  seemed  to  be  protecting  his  rival,  checked 
his  progress  in  the  little  procession  necessitated  by  the 
wooden  screen  round  the  entrance  door.  When,  at  last,  he 
got  out  into  the  street  behind  them,  he  had  only  time  to 
see  the  door  of  a  sorry-looking  carriage,  which,  by  an  odd 
contrast,  was  drawn  by  two  excellent  horses,  swiftly  closed, 
and  in  a  moment  it  was  out  of  sight. 

He  went  home,  choking  with  fury.  He  was  soon  joined 
by  his  spies,  who  coolly  informed  him  that  on  that  day  the 
mysterious  lover,  disguised  as  a  priest,  had  knelt  very  de- 
voutly close  up  against  a  tomb  standing  at  the  entrance  of 
a  dark  chapel  in  the  Church  of  San  Giovanni;  that  the 
Fausta  had  remained  in  the  church  until  it  was  almost 
empty,  and  that  she  had  then  swiftly  exchanged  certain 
signs  with  the  unknown  person,  making  something  like 

crosses  with  her  hands.     M rushed  to  the  faithless 

woman's  house.  For  the  first  time  she  could  not  conceal 
her  confusion.  With  all  the  lying  simplicity  of  a  passionate 
woman,  she  related  that  she  had  gone  to  San  Giovanni  as 
usual,  but  had  not  seen  her  persecutor  there.     On  these 

240 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

words  M ,  beside  himself,  told  her  she  was  the  vilest  of 

creatures,  related  all  he  had  seen  himself,  and,  as  the  more 
bitterly  he  accused  her,  the  more  boldly  she  lied  to  him, 
he  drew  his  dagger  and  would  have  fallen  upon  her.  With 
the  most  perfect  calmness  the  Fausta  said : 

"  Well,  everything  you  complain  of  is  perfectly  true, 
but  I  have  tried  to  hide  it  from  you,  so  as  to  prevent  your 
boldness  from  carrying  you  into  mad  plans  of  venge- 
ance which  may  be  the  ruin  of  us  both.  Let  me  tell  you, 
once  for  all,  I  take  this  man  who  persecutes  me  with  his 
attentions  to  be  one  who  will  find  no  obstacle  to  his  will,  in 
this  country,  at  all  events."    Then,  having  skilfully  reminded 

M that,  after  all,  he  had  no  rights  over  her,  the  Fausta 

ended  by  saying  that  she  should  probably  not  go  again  to 

the  Church  of  San  Giovanni.     M was  desperately  in 

love;  it  was  possible  that  a  touch  of  coquetry  might  have 
mingled  with  prudence  in  the  young  woman's  heart.  He 
felt  himself  disarmed.  He  thought  of  leaving  Parma; 
the  young  prince,  powerful  as  he  was,  would  not  be  able 
to  follow  him,  or,  if  he  followed  him,  he  would  be  no  more 
than  his  equal.  Then  his  pride  reminded  him  once  more 
that  such  a  departure  would  always  look  like  flight,  and 
Count  M forbade  himself  to  think  of  it  again. 

"  He  has  not  an  idea  of  my  little  Fabrizio's  existence," 
thought  the  delighted  singer.  "  And  now  we  shall  be  able 
to  laugh  at  him  most  thoroughly." 

Fabrizio  had  no  suspicion  of  his  own  good  fortune.  The 
next  morning,  when  he  saw  the  fair  lady's  windows  all  care- 
fully closed,  and  could  not  catch  sight  of  her  anywhere,  the 
joke  began  to  strike  him  as  lasting  rather  too  long.  His 
conscience  began  to  prick  him.  "  Into  what  a  position  am  I 
putting  poor  Count  Mosca,  the  Minister  of  Police?  He 
will  be  taken  for  my  accomplice,  and  my  coming  to  this 
country  will  be  the  ruin  of  his  fortunes.  But  if  I  give  up 
a  plan  I  have  followed  for  so  long,  what  will  the  duchess 
say  when  I  tell  her  of  my  attempts  at  love-making?  " 

One  night  when,  feeling  sorely  inclined  to  give  up  the 
game,  he  thus  reasoned  with  himself,  as  he  prowled  up  and 
down  under  the  g^eat  trees  which  divide  the  palace  in  which 

241 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Fausta  was  living  from  the  citadel,  he  became  aware  that 
he  was  being  followed  by  a  spy  of  exceedingly  small  stature. 
In  vain  did  he  walk  through  several  streets  in  his  endeavour 
to  get  away  from  him.  He  could  not  shake  off  the  tiny 
form  which  seemed  to  dog  his  steps.  Losing  patience  at 
last,  he  moved  quickly  into  a  lonely  street,  running  along 
the  river,  in  which  his  servants  were  lying  in  wait.  At  a 
signal  from  him  they  sprang  upon  the  poor  little  spy,  who 
threw  himself  at  their  feet.  It  turned  out  to  be  Bettina, 
the  Fausta's  waiting-woman.  After  three  days  of  boredom 
and  retirement  she  had  disguised  herself  in  man's  attire,  to 
escape  Count  M 's  dagger — which  both  she  and  her  mis- 
tress greatly  dreaded — and  had  undertaken  to  come  and  tell 
Fabrizio  that  he  was  passionately  loved  and  intensely  longed 
for,  but  that  any  reappearance  at  the  Church  of  San  Gio- 
vanni was  quite  impossible.  "  It  was  high  time,"  thought 
Fabrizio  to  himself.    "  Well  done,  my  obstinacy !  " 

The  little  waiting-woman  was  exceedingly  pretty,  a 
fact  which  soon  weaned  Fabrizio  from  his  communings  with 
morality.  She  informed  him  that  the  public  promenade 
and  all  the  streets  through  which  he  had  passed  that  even- 
ing, were  carefully,  though  secretly,  guarded  by  spies  in  the 
count's  pay.  They  had  hired  rooms  on  the  ground  floor 
and  on  the  first  floor,  and,  hidden  behind  the  window  shut- 
ters, they  watched  everything  that  went  on  in  the  streets, 
even  those  which  seemed  the  loneliest,  and  heard  every- 
thing that  was  said. 

"  If  the  spies  had  recognised  my  voice,"  said  little  Bet- 
tina, "  I  should  have  been  stabbed  without  mercy  as  soon 
as  I  got  home,  and  my  poor  mistress  with  me,  perhaps.'* 
Fabrizio  thought  her  terror  increased  her  charms. 

"  Count  M ,"  she  added,  "  is  furious,  and  my  mistress 

knows  he  is  capable  of  anything.  .  .  .  She  bade  me  tell 
you  that  she  wishes  she  were  with  you,  and  a  hundred 
leagues  from  here." 

Then  she  told  the  story  of  all  that  had  happened  on 
San  Stefano's  Day  and  of  the  fury  of  the  count,  who  had 
not  missed  one  of  the  loving  glances  and  signs  which  the 
Fausta,  who  had  been  quite  beside  herself  with  passion  that 

242 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

day,  had  bestowed  on  Fabrizio.  The  count  had  unsheathed 
his  dagger,  had  caught  hold  of  Fausta  by  the  hair,  and  but 
for  her  presence  of  mind  would  certainly  have  killed  her. 

Fabrizio  conducted  the  pretty  waiting-maid  to  a  lodging 
he  had  hard  by.  He  told  her  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  great 
Turinese  nobleman  who  chanced  to  be  at  Parma  at  that 
moment,  and  that  therefore  he  was  obliged  to  act  with  the 
greatest  caution.  Bettina  answered  laughingly  that  he  was 
a  much  greater  man  than  he  chose  to  appear.  It  was 
some  time  before  our  hero  contrived  to  understand  that 
the  charming  girl  took  him  for  no  less  a  person  than  the 
hereditary  prince  himself.  The  Fausta  was  beginning  to 
take  alarm,  and  also  to  care  for  Fabrizio.  She  had  resolved 
not  to  tell  her  waiting-maid  his  real  name,  and  had  spoken 
of  him  to  her  as  "  the  prince."  Fabrizio  ended  by  confess- 
ing to  the  pretty  girl  that  she  had  guessed  aright.  "  But  if 
my  name  is  noised  abroad,"  he  added,  "  in  spite  of  my  great 
passion  for  your  mistress,  of  which  I  have  given  her  so 
many  proofs,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  see  her  any  more ;  and 
my  father's  ministers,  those  spiteful  wretches  whom  I  shall 
one  day  send  about  their  business,  will  not  fail  to  give  her 
instant  orders  to  clear  out  of  the  country  which  she  has 
hitherto  embellished  by  her  presence." 

Toward  morning,  Fabrizio  and  the  fair  waiting-maid  laid 
several  plans  for  meeting,  so  as  to  enable  him  to  get  to 
Fausta.  He  sent  for  Ludovico  and  another  of  his  men,  a 
very  cunning  fellow,  who  arrived  at  an  understanding  with 
Bettina,  while  he  was  writing  the  most  exaggerated  letter  to 
Fausta.  Tragic  exaggeration  quite  fatted  in  with  the  situa- 
tion, and  Fabrizio  used  it  without  stint.  It  was  not  till  day- 
break that  he  parted  with  the  pretty  waiting-maid,  who  was 
highly  delighted  with  the  treatment  she  had  received  at  the 
hands  of  the  young  prince. 

A  hundred  times  over  they  had  agreed  that  now  the 
Fausta  had  entered  into  communication  with  her  lover,  he 
was  not  to  appear  under  the  windows  of  the  little  palace  until 
she  was  able  to  admit  him,  when  he  would  be  duly  warned. 
But  Fabrizio,  who  was  now  in  love  with  Bettina  and  be- 
lieved himself  near  success  with  Fausta,   could  not  stay 

243 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

quietly  in  his  village  two  leagues  from  Parma.  Toward 
midnight  on  the  morrow,  he  came  on  horseback,  with  a  suf- 
ficient train  of  servants,  and  sang,  under  the  Fausta's  win- 
dows, an  air  then  fashionable,  to  which  he  had  put  words  of 
his  own.  "  Is  not  this  a  common  practice  among  lovers?" 
said  he  to  himself. 

Now  that  the  Fausta  had  given  him  to  understand  that 
she  desired  a  meeting,  this  long  pursuit  seemed  very  weari- 
some to  Fabrizio.  "  No,  this  is  not  love,"  said  he  to  him- 
self as  he  sang,  not  particularly  well,  under  the  windows 
of  the  little  palace.  "  Bettina  seems  to  me  a  hundred  times 
more  attractive  than  Fausta,  and  it  is  she  whom  I  should 
best  like  to  see  at  this  moment."  He  was  returning  to  his 
village,  feeling  rather  bored,  when,  about  five  hundred  paces 
from  Fausta's  palace,  he  was  sprung  upon  by  some  fifteen 
or  twenty  men.  Four  of  them  seized  his  horse's  bridle,  two 
others  took  hold  of  his  arms.  Ludovico  and  Fabrizio's 
bravi  were  attacked,  but  contrived  to  escape,  and  several 
pistols  were  fired.  The  whole  affair  was  over  in  an  instant. 
Then,  as  though  by  magic,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
fifty  men,  bearing  lighted  torches,  appeared  in  the  street, 
every  man  well  armed.  Fabrizio,  in  spite  of  the  people  who 
were  holding  him,  had  jumped  off  his  horse,  and  struggled 
fiercely  to  get  free.  He  even  wounded  one  of  the  men,  who 
was  holding  his  arms  in  a  vice-like  grasp,  but  he  was  very 
much  astonished  to  hear  the  fellow  say,  in  the  most  respect- 
ful tone : 

"  Your  Highness  will  give  me  a  good  pension  for  this 
wound,  and  that  will  be  far  better  for  me  than  to  fall  into  the 
crime  of  high  treason  by  drawing  my  sword  against  my 
prince." 

"  Now  here  comes  the  chastisement  of  my  folly," 
thought  Fabrizio.  "  I  shall  have  damned  myself  for  a  sin 
which  did  not  even  strike  me  as  attractive." 

Hardly  had  the  attempted  scuffle  come  to  an  end,  when 
several  lackeys,  dressed  in  magnificent  liveries,  brought  for- 
ward a  sedan-chair,  gilt  and  painted  in  a  most  extraordi- 
nary manner.  It  was  one  of  those  grotesque  conveyances 
used  by  masks  during  carnival  time.     Six  men,  dagger  in 

244 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

hand,  requested  "  his  Highness  "  to  get  in,  saying  the  cold 
night  air  might  hurt  his  voice.  The  most  respectful  forms 
of  address  were  used,  and  the  title  "  prince  "  was  constantly 
repeated,  and  almost  shouted  aloud.  The  procession  began 
to  move  on.  Fabrizio  counted  more  than  fifty  men  carry- 
ing lighted  torches  down  the  street.  It  was  about  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  all  the  world  was  looking  out  of  window, 
there  was  a  certain  solemnity  about  the  whole  affair.     "  I 

was  afraid  Count  M might  treat  me  to  dagger  thrusts," 

said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  but  he  contents  himself  with 
making  game  of  me.  I  should  not  have  accused  him  of  so 
much  taste.  But  does  he  really  believe  he  has  to  do  with 
the  prince  ?  If  he  knows  I  am  only  Fabrizio,  I  must  beware 
of  the  stiletto." 

The  fifty  torch-bearers  and  the  twenty  armed  men,  hav- 
ing made  a  long  halt  under  the  Fausta's  windows,  paraded 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  finest  palaces  in  the  city.  From 
time  to  time  the  major-domos  who  walked  by  the  side  of 
the  sedan-chair  inquired  whether  "  his  Highness  "  had  any 
orders  to  give  them.  Fabrizio  did  not  lose  his  head.  He 
could  see  by  the  torch-light  that  Ludovico  and  his  men  were 
following  the  procession  as  closely  as  they  could.  Fabrizio 
argued  to  himself :  "  Ludovico  has  only  eight  or  ten  men ; 
he  does  not  dare  to  attack."  From  within  his  sedan-chair 
Fabrizio  saw  plainly  enough  that  the  people  charged  with 
the  execution  of  this  doubtful  joke  were  armed  to  the  teeth. 
He  affected  to  laugh  with  the  major-domos  in  attendance 
on  him.  After  more  than  two  hours  of  this  triumphal 
march  he  perceived  that  they  were  about  to  cross  the  street 
in  which  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina  stood.  Just  as  they 
passed  by  the  street  leading  to  the  palace  he  suddenly 
opened  the  door  in  the  front  of  the  chair,  jumped  over  one 
of  the  staves,  overthrew  one  of  the  footmen,  who  thrust  his 
torch  into  his  face,  with  a  dagger  thrust,  received  one  him- 
self in  the  shoulder,  a  second  footman  singed  his  beard  with 
his  lighted  torch,  and  finally,  Fabrizio  reached  Ludovico, 
to  whom  he  shouted,  "  Kill !  kill  every  one  who  carries  a 
torch !  "  Ludovico  hacked  with  his  sword,  and  saved  him 
from  two  men  who  were  trying  to  pursue  him.     Fabrizio 

245 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

rushed  up  to  the  entrance  of  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina,  The 
porter,  in  his  curiosity,  had  opened  the  Httle  door  three  feet 
high,  set  in  the  large  one,  and  was  staring  in  astonishment 
at  the  great  train  of  torches.  Fabrizio  bounded  through 
the  tiny  door,  slammed  it  behind  him,  ran  to  the  garden,  and 
escaped  by  another  door  opening  on  to  a  deserted  street. 
An  hour  later  he  was  beyond  the  city  walls ;  when  day  broke 
he  was  over  the  frontier  into  the  state  of  Modena,  and  in 
perfect  safety;  by  the  evening  he  was  back  in  Bologna. 
"  Here's  a  pretty  expedition !  "  said  he  to  himself.  "  I  have 
not  even  succeeded  in  getting  speech  with  my  flame."  He 
lost  no  time  about  writing  letters  of  excuse  to  the  count  and 
to  the  duchess,  prudent  missives  which,  though  they  de- 
scribed his  emotions,  furnished  no  clew  that  any  enemy 
could  lay  hold  of.  "  I  was  in  love  with  love,"  he  wrote  to 
the  duchess.  "  I  have  done  everything  in  the  world  to  make 
its  acquaintance.  But  nature,  it  appears,  has  refused  me  a 
heart  capable  of  love  and  melancholy ;  I  can  not  rise  above 
vulgar  enjoyment,  etc."  The  stir  this  adventure  made  in 
Parma  can  not  be  described.  The  mystery  of  it  whetted  the 
general  curiosity.  Numbers  of  people  had  seen  the  torches 
and  the  sedan-chair,  but  who  was  the  man  who  had  been 
carried  off  and  treated  with  such  formal  ceremony?  No 
well-known  personage  was  missing  from  the  city  on  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

The  humble  folk  living  in  the  street  in  which  the  prisoner 
made  his  escape  declared  they  had  seen  a  corpse.  But  when 
broad  daylight  came,  and  the  inhabitants  ventured  to  emerge 
from  their  houses,  the  only  trace  of  the  struggle  they  could 
discover  was  the  quantity  of  blood  which  stained  the  paving 
stones.  More  than  twenty  thousand  sightseers  visited  the 
street  during  the  day.  The  dwellers  in  Italian  towns  are  ac- 
customed to  see  strange  sights,  but  the  how  and  why  is 
always  clearly  known  to  them.  What  annoyed  the  Parmese 
about  this  incident,  was  that  even  a  whole  month  after,  when 
the  torch-light  procession  had  ceased  to  be  the  only  subject 
of  general  conversation,  no  one,  thanks  to  Count  Mosca's 
prudence,  had  been  able  to  discover  the  name  of  the  rival 
who  would  fain  have  carried  the  Fausta  off  from  Count 
•      .        246 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

M .     This  jealous  and  vindictive  lover  had  taken  to 

flight  as  soon  as  the  procession  had  set  forth  on  its  way. 
By  the  count's  orders,  the  Fausta  was  shut  up  in  the  citadel. 
The  duchess  was  vastly  entertained  by  a  little  piece  of  in- 
justice in  which  the  count  was  forced  to  indulge,  to  check 
the  curiosity  of  the  prince,  who  might  otherwise  have  tried 
to  discover  Fabrizio's  name. 

A  learned  man  had  just  arrived  at  Parma  from  the  north, 
with  the  intention  of  writing  a  history  of  the  middle  ages. 
He  was  searching  for  manuscripts  in  various  libraries,  and 
the  count  had  given  him  all  possible  facilities.  But  this 
learned  man,  who  was  still  very  young,  was  of  an  irascible 
temper.  He  fancied,  for  instance,  that  every  soul  in  Parma 
desired  to  turn  him  into  ridicule.  It  is  true  that  the  street 
boys  did  occasionally  run  after  him,  attracted  by  the  waving 
locks  of  pale  red  hair  which  he  proudly  displayed.  This 
learned  gentleman  believed  that  his  innkeeper  charged  him 
abnormal  prices  for  everything,  and  he  would  never  pay  for 
the  most  trifling  article  without  looking  up  its  price  in  Mrs. 
Starke's  Travels,  a  book  which  has  reached  its  twentieth 
edition,  because  it  gives  the  prudent  Englishman  the  price 
of  a  turkey,  an  apple,  a  glass  of  milk,  and  so  forth. 

On  the  very  evening  of  the  day  on  which  Fabrizio  had 
taken  his  involuntary  part  in  the  torch-light  procession,  the 
red-haired  savant  fell  into  a  rage  at  his  inn,  and  pulled  a 
pair  of  pocket  pistols  out  of  his  pocket  to  take  vengeance 
on  a  camerier  who  had  asked  him  two  sous  for  an  inferior 
peach.  He  was  immediately  arrested,  for  it  is  a  great  crime, 
in  Parma,  to  carry  pocket  pistols. 

As  this  irascible  gentleman  was  tall  and  thin,  it  occurred 
to  the  count,  next  morning,  to  pass  him  oflf  on  the  prince 
as  the  foolhardy  being  who  had  endeavoured  to  carry  off 
the  Fausta,  and  on  whom  a  trick  had  been  played  by  her 
lover.  In  Parma  the  punishment  for  carrying  pocket  pistols 
is  three  years  at  the  galleys,  but  the  penalty  is  never  exacted. 
After  a  fortnight  in  prison,  during  which  he  saw  nobody 
but  a  lawyer,  who  filled  him  with  the  deepest  terror  of  the 
abominable  laws  directed  by  the  cowardice  of  the  people  in 
power  against  the  bearers  of  concealed  weapons,  he  was 

247 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

visited  by  a  second  lawyer,  who  told  him  the  story  of  the 

mock  procession  in  which  Count  M had  forced  a  rival, 

whose  identity  had  not  been  discovered,  to  bear  a  part. 
"  The  police  do  not  want  to  confess  to  the  prince  that  they 
can  not  find  out  who  this  rival  is.  Say  that  you  desired  to 
find  favour  in  the  Fausta's  eyes,  that  fifty  rascals  laid  hands 
on  you  while  you  were  singing  beneath  her  windows,  and 
that  you  were  carried  about  in  a  sedan-chair  for  an  hour 
by  people  who  only  spoke  to  you  in  a  most  respectful  man- 
ner. There  is  nothing  humiliating  about  this  avowal,  and 
one  word  is  all  that  is  asked  of  you.  The  instant  you  say  it, 
and  get  the  police  out  of  this  difficulty,  you  will  be  put  into 
a  post-chaise,  taken  to  the  frontier,  and  allowed  to  depart  in 
peace." 

For  a  whole  month  the  learned  man  held  out.  Two  or 
three  times  over,  the  prince  was  on  the  point  of  having  him 
brought  before  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  himself 
presiding  at  the  examination.  But  he  had  forgotten  all 
about  it  before  the  historian,  wearied  out,  made  up  his  mind 
to  confess  everything,  and  was  conducted  to  the  frontier. 

The  prince  remained  convinced  that  Count  M 's  rival 

possessed  a  mass  of  red  hair. 

Three  days  after  the  procession,  while  Fabrizio,  with  his 
faithful  Ludovico,  in  his  hiding-place  at  Bologna,  was  plot- 
ting means  of  discovering  Count  M ,  he  learned  that 

the  count  was  in  hiding,  too,  in  a  mountain  village  on 
the  road  to  Florence,  and  that  only  three  of  his  buli  were 
with  him.  Next  day,  as  he  was  returning  from  a  ride,  the 
count  was  seized  by  eight  masked  men,  who  informed  him 
they  were  police  agents  from  Parma.  He  was  conducted, 
after  his  eyes  had  been  bandaged,  to  an  inn  some  two  leagues 
farther  up  in  the  mountains,  where  he  was  received  with 
every  attention,  and  found  a  liberal  supper  ready.  The  best 
Italian  and  Spanish  wines  were  served. 

"  Pray,  am  I  a  state  prisoner  ?  "  inquired  the  count. 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  was  the  polite  response  of 
Ludovico,  who  wore  a  mask.  "  You  have  insulted  a  private 
individual  by  venturing  to  have  him  carried  about  in  a 
sedan-chair.    To-morrow  morning  he  means  to  fight  a  duel 

248 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

with  you.  If  you  kill  him,  you  will  be  provided  with  money 
and  good  horses,  and  there  will  be  relays  ready  for  you  all 
the  way  to  Genoa." 

"  What  may  this  ruffian's  name  be  ?  "  quoth  the  count  in 
a  rage. 

"  His  name  is  Bombace.  You  will  have  the  choice  of 
weapons,  and  good  seconds,  thoroughly  loyal  men ;  but  one 
or  the  other  of  you  must  die." 

"  It's  a  murder,  then !  "  cried  Count  M in  alarm. 

"  God  forbid !  It  is  simply  a  duel  to  the  death,  with  a 
young  man  whom  you  carried  about  the  streets  of  Parma 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  who  would  be  dishonoured 
if  you  lived  on.  The  earth  is  not  large  enough  for  both  of 
you.  Therefore  do  your  best  to  kill  him.  You  will  have 
swords,  pistols,  rapiers — all  the  weapons  it  has  been  pos- 
sible to  collect  within  a  few  hours,  for  time  is  precious ;  the 
Bolognese  police  are  very  diligent,  as  you  know,  and  there 
must  be  no  interference  with  this  duel,  for  the  sake  of  the 
honour  of  this  young  man,  whom  you  have  turned  into 
ridicule." 

"  But  if  the  young  man  is  a  prince  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  private  individual,  like  yourself,  and  indeed  a 
much  less  rich  man  than  you.  But  he  is  resolved  to  fight 
to  the  death,  and  he  will  force  you  to  fight,  I  warn  you." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  anything  on  earth,"  exclaimed  Count 
M . 

"  That  is  what  your  adversary  most  earnestly  desires," 
replied  Ludovico.  "  Make  yourself  ready  to  defend  your 
life  to-morrow,  very  early  in  the  morning;  to  be  attacked 
by  a  man  who  has  good  reason  to  be  furious  with  you,  and 
who  will  not  spare  you.  I  tell  you  again,  you  will  have  the 
choice  of  weapons,  and  now,  make  your  will  1 " 

About  six  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Count  M 's 

breakfast  was  served.  Then  one  of  the  doors  of  the  room 
in  which  he  had  been  kept  was  opened,  and  he  was  requested 
to  enter  the  courtyard  of  a  country  inn.  This  court  was  sur- 
rounded with  tolerably  high  hedges  and  walls,  and  all  the 
entrances  had  been  carefully  closed. 

On  a  table  in  one  comer,  which  the  count  was  requested 

249 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  approach,  stood  several  bottles  of  wine  and  brandy,  two 
pistols,  two  rapiers,  two  swords,  paper,  and  ink.  About  a 
score  of  peasants  were  at  the  windows  of  the  tavern,  which 
looked  on  to  the  yard.  The  count  besought  their  pity. 
"  These  people  want  to  murder  me,"  he  cried ;  "  save  my 
life!" 

"  You  are  deceived,  or  else  you  desire  to  deceive," 
shouted  Fabrizio,  who  was  standing  in  the  opposite  corner 
of  the  courtyard,  beside  a  table  covered  with  weapons.  He 
had  taken  oflf  his  coat,  and  his  face  was  hidden  under  one  of 
those  wire  masks  used  in  fencing-rooms. 

"  I  advise  you,"  added  Fabrizio,  "  to  put  on  the  wire 
mask  you  will  find  beside  you,  and  then  advance  either  with 
a  rapier  or  with  pistols.  As  you  were  told  yesterday  morn- 
ing, you  have  the  choice  of  weapons."  The  count  made 
endless  difficulties,  and  seemed  very  unwilling  to  fight.  Fa- 
brizio, on  his  side,  was  afraid  the  police  would  arrive, 
although  they  were  up  in  the  mountains,  and  five  full 
leagues  from  Bologna.  He  ended  by  hurling  such  frightful 
insults  at  his  rival,  that  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  goading 
Count  M into  fury.  He  snatched  up  a  rapier,  and  ad- 
vanced upon  Fabrizio.  The  beginning  of  the  fight  was 
somewhat  slack. 

After  a  few  minutes  it  was  interrupted  by  a  great  noise. 
Our  hero  had  been  quite  conscious  that  he  was  undertaking 
an  enterprise  which  might  be  made  a  subject  of  reproach, 
or  at  all  events  of  slanderous  imputations  upon  him,  all 
through  his  life  He  had  sent  Ludovico  into  the  fields  to 
beat  up  witnesses.  Ludovico  gave  money  to  some  strangers 
who  were  working  in  a  neighbouring  wood,  and  they  hur- 
ried up,  shouting,  under  the  impression  that  they  were  ex- 
pected to  kill  an  enemy  of  the  man  who  had  paid  them. 
When  they  reached  the  inn,  Ludovico  begged  them  to  watch 
with  all  their  eyes,  and  see  whether  either  of  the  young  men 
did  anything  treacherous,  or  took  any  unfair  advantage  of 
the  other. 

The  fight,  which  had  been  checked  for  a  moment  by  the 
peasants'  shouts,  again  hung  fire.  Once  more  Fabrizio 
rained  insults  on  the  count's  self-conceit.    "  Signor  Conte," 

250 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

he  cried,  "  when  you  are  insolent,  you  must  be  brave  as 
well,  I  know  that  is  a  hard  matter  for  you;  you  would 
far  rather  pay  other  people  to  be  brave."  The  count,  stung 
to  fresh  fury,  yelled  out  that  he  had  been  a  constant  fre- 
quenter of  the  fencing  school  at  Naples,  kept  by  the  famous 
Battistino,  and  that  he  would  soon  chastise  his  opponent's 

impudence.     Now  that  Count  M 's  fury  had  revived, 

he  fought  with  tolerable  resolution,  but  this  did  not  prevent 
Fabrizio  from  giving  him  a  fine  sword  thrust  in  the  chest, 
which  kept  him  several  months  in  bed.  As  Ludovico  bent 
over  the  count  to  put  a  temporary  bandage  on  his  wound, 
he  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  If  you  dare  to  let  the  police  know 
of  this  duel,  I  will  have  you  stabbed  in  your  bed." 

Fabrizio  fled  to  Florence.  As  he  had  remained  in  hiding 
at  Bologna,  it  was  not  till  he  reached  Florence  that  he  re- 
ceived all  the  duchess's  reproachful  letters.  She  could  not 
forgive  him  for  coming  to  her  concert,  and  not  attempting 
to  obtain  speech  of  her.  Fabrizio  was  delighted  with  Count 
Mosca's  letters ;  they  breathed  frank  friendship  and  the 
noblest  feelings.  He  guessed  that  the  count  had  written 
to  Bologna  to  dispel  the  suspicions  of  him  which  the  duel 
might  have  caused.  The  police  behaved  with  perfect  justice. 
It  reported  that  two   strangers,   only  one   of  whom,  the 

wounded  man,  was  recognised  (Count  M ),  had  fought 

with  rapiers  in  the  presence  of  more  than  thirty  peasants, 
joined,  toward  the  end  of  the  fight,  by  the  village  priest, 
who  had  unsuccessfully  endeavoured  to  separate  the  com- 
batants. As  the  name  of  Giuseppe  Bossi  had  never  been 
mentioned,  Fabrizio  ventured,  before  two  months  were  out, 
to  return  to  Bologna,  more  convinced  than  ever  that  he  was 
fated  never  to  make  acquaintance  with  the  noble  and  intel- 
lectual side  of  love.  This  he  did  himself  the  pleasure  of 
explaining  to  the  duchess,  in  very  lengthy  terms.  He  was 
very  tired  of  his  lonely  life,  and  passionately  longed  to  go 
back  to  the  delightful  evenings  he  had  spent  with  his  aunt 
and  the  count.  He  had  not  tasted  the  delights  of  good  com- 
pany since  he  had  parted  from  them. 

"  I  have  brought  so  much  worry  upon  myself  on  account 
of  the  love  I  had  hoped  to  enjoy,  and  of  the  Fausta,"  wrote 

2^1 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

he  to  the  duchess,  "  that  now,  if  her  fancy  still  turned  my 
way,  I  would  not  ride  twenty  leagues  to  claim  the  fulfilment 
of  her  bond.  Therefore,  have  no  fear,  as  you  say  you  have, 
that  I  may  go  to  Paris,  where  I  see  she  is  appearing  with 
the  most  brilliant  success.  I  would  ride  any  possible  num- 
ber of  leagues  to  spend  an  evening  with  you  and  with  the 
count,  who  is  always  so  good  to  his  friends." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

While  Fabrizio  was  prosecuting  his  search  for  love  in  a 
village  near  Parma,  Rassi,  all  unconscious  of  his  vicinity, 
continued  dealing  with  the  young  man's  case  as  if  it  had  been 
that  of  a  Liberal.  He  pretended  it  was  impossible  to  find 
any  witnesses  for  the  defence,  or  rather,  he  browbeat  those 
he  did  find.  Finally,  after  protracted  and  skilful  labour, 
lasting  nearly  a  year,  the  Marchesa  Raversi,  one  Friday 
evening  some  two  months  after  Fabrizio's  last  visit  to  Bo- 
logna, publicly  announced  in  her  drawing-room — ^that  on 
the  very  next  day  young  Del  Dongo's  sentence,  which  had 
been  pronounced  just  an  hour  before,  would  be  presented 
for  the  prince's  signature,  and  would  receive  his  approval. 

Within  a  very  few  minutes  the  duchess  was  apprised 
of  her  enemy's  announcement.  "  The  count's  agents  must 
serve  him  very  ill,"  said  she  to  herself.  "  Even  this  morn- 
ing he  thought  the  sentence  could  not  be  pronounced  for 
another  week.  It  would  not  break  his  heart,  perhaps,  to 
see  my  young  grand  vicar  banished  from  Parma.  But," 
she  added,  and  she  began  to  sing,  "  we  shall  see  him  come 
back,  and  he  will  be  our  archbishop  some  day !  "  The 
duchess  rang  the  bell.  "  Call  all  the  servants  together  into 
the  anteroom,"  said  she  to  her  footman,  "  even  the  cooks. 
Go  to  the  commandant  of  the  fortress  and  get  a  permit  from 
him  for  four  post-horses,  and  see  that  those  same  horses 
are  harnessed  to  my  carriage  before  half  an  hour  is  out." 
All  the  waiting-women  in  the  house  were  busy  packing 
trunks,  the  duchess  hurriedly  slipped  on  a  travelling  dress — 
all  this  without  sending  any  warning  to  the  count.  The  idea 
of  making  sport  of  him  a  little  filled  her  with  delight. 

"  My  friends,"  she  said  to  the  servants,  who  were  now 
assembled,  "  I  have  just  heard  that  my  poor  nephew  is  about 

253 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  be  sentenced,  by  default,  for  having  had  the  impudence  to 
defend  his  life  against  a  madman.  It  was  Giletti  who  would 
have  killed  him.  You  have  all  of  you  had  opportunities  of 
seeing  how  gentle  and  inoffensive  Fabrizio  is  by  nature. 
Infuriated,  as  I  have  a  right  to  be,  by  this  vile  insult,  I 
start  instantly  for  Florence.  I  leave  each  of  you  ten  years' 
wages.  If  you  fall  into  difficulties,  write  to  me,  and  as  long 
as  I  have  a  sequin,  there  will  be  something  for  you." 

The  duchess  thought  exactly  what  she  said,  and  at  her 
last  words,  her  servants  burst  into  tears.  Her  own  eyes  were 
wet,  and  she  added,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  emotion, 
"  Pray  to  God  for  me,  and  for  Monsignore  del  Dongo,  chief 
grand  vicar  of  the  diocese,  who  will  be  sentenced  to-morrow 
morning  to  the  galleys,  or,  which  would  be  less  ridiculous, 
to  the  penalty  of  death." 

The  servants'  tears  fell  faster^  and  their  sobs  changed 
by  degrees  into  shouts  that  were  almost  seditious.  The 
duchess  entered  her  coach,  and  had  herself  driven  to  the 
prince's  palace.  In  spite  of  the  unwonted  hour,  she  re- 
quested General  Fontana,  the  aide-de-camp  in  waiting,  to 
beg  the  prince  to  grant  her  an  audience.  The  aide-de-camp 
observed,  with  great  astonishment,  that  she  was  not  in  full 
court  dress.  As  for  the  prince,  he  was  not  the  least  sur- 
prised, and  even  less  displeased,  by  the  request  for  an  audi- 
ence. "  Now  we  shall  see  tears  shed  by  lovely  eyes,"  said 
he  to  himself,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  She  comes  to  sue  for 
mercy ;  this  proud  beauty  is  going  to  humble  herself  at  last. 
And,  indeed,  she  was  quite  unbearable,  with  her  little  airs 
of  independence.  Whenever  the  smallest  thing  displeased 
her,  those  speaking  eyes  seemed  always  to  tell  me  '  it  would 
be  far  pleasanter  to  live  at  Naples,  or  at  Milan,  than  in  your 
little  town  of  Parma.'  It  is  true  I  do  not  reign  over 
Naples,  nor  over  Milan,  but  at  any  rate  this  fine  lady  is 
coming  to  beg  me  for  something  which  depends  on  me  alone, 
and  which  she  pines  to  obtain.  I  have  always  thought  that 
the  nephew's  arrival  would  help  me  to  get  something  out  of 
her." 

While  the  prince  was  smiling  at  his  own  thoughts,  and 
indulging  in  these  pleasing  forecasts,  he  kept  walking  up 

254 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  down  his  study,  at  the  door  of  which  General  Fontana 
still  stood,  upright  and  stiff,  like  a  soldier  shouldering  arms. 
When  he  saw  the  prince's  shining  eyes  and  recollected  the 
duchess's  travelling  garments,  he  felt  convinced  the  mon- 
archy was  about  to  drop  to  pieces,  and  his  astonishment  ex- 
ceeded all  limits  when  he  heard  the  prince  address  him 
thus :  "  You  will  ask  the  duchess  to  be  good  enough  to 
wait  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so."  The  aide-de-camp 
turned  to  the  right  about,  like  a  soldier  on  parade,  and  the 
prince  smiled  again.  "  Fontana  is  not  accustomed,"  said  he 
to  himself,  "  to  see  the  haughty  duchess  kept  waiting.  His 
face  of  astonishment  when  he  tells  her  to  wait  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  will  pave  the  way  for  the  affecting  tears  that  will 
shortly  be  shed  in  this  study."  That  quarter  of  an  hour 
was  an  exquisite  one  to  the  prince.  He  walked  up  and 
down,  with  steady  and  even  step ;  he  reigned  in  very  deed. 
"  It  is  important  that  nothing  should  be  said  which  is  not 
perfectly  correct.  Whatever  may  be  my  feelings  toward  the 
duchess,  I  must  not  forget  that  she  is  one  of  the  greatest 
ladies  of  my  court.  How  did  Louis  XIV  address  the  prin- 
cesses, his  daughters,  when  he  had  reason  to  be  displeased 
with  them  ?  "  and  his  glance  lingered  on  the  great  king's 
portrait. 

The  comical  thing  was  that  the  prince  never  thought  of 
asking  himself  whether  he  should  show  mercy  to  Fabrizio, 
and  what  kind  of  mercy  he  should  extend.  At  last,  after 
the  lapse  of  twenty  minutes,  the  faithful  Fontana  appeared 
once  more  at  the  door,  this  time  without  saying  a  word. 
"  The  Duchess  Sanseverina  is  permitted  to  enter,"  exclaimed 
the  prince,  with  a  theatrical  air.  "  Now  the  tears  will  be- 
gin," said  he,  and  as  though  to  prepare  himself  for  the  sight, 
he  pulled  out  his  own  handkerchief. 

Never  had  the  duchess  looked  so  active  or  so  pretty; 
she  did  not  seem  more  than  five-and-twenty.  When  the 
poor  aide-de-camp  saw  her  float  across  the  carpet  which 
her  light  foot  hardly  appeared  to  touch,  he  very  nearly  lost 
his  head  altogether.  "  I  have  all  sorts  of  apologies  to  make 
your  Most  Serene  Highness,"  said  the  duchess  in  her  clear 
blithe  voice.    "  I've  taken  the  liberty  of  presenting  myself 

255 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

in  a  dress  which  is  not  exactly  correct,  but  your  Highness 
has  so  accustomed  me  to  your  kindnesses,  that  I  have  dared 
to  hope  you  would  grant  me  this  favour." 

The  duchess  spoke  rather  slowly,  so  as  to  give  herself 
time  to  enjoy  the  expression  of  the  prince's  countenance, 
which  was  exquisite,  by  reason  of  his  overwhelming  aston- 
ishment and  the  remains  of  pomposity  still  indicated  by  the 
pose  of  his  head  and  the  position  of  his  arms.  The  prince 
was  thunder-struck.  Every  now  and  then  he  exclaimed 
almost  inarticulately,  in  his  little  shrill,  unsteady  voice, 
"What!  what!" 

When  the  duchess  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  speech, 
she  paused  respectfully,  as  though  to  give  him  an  oppor- 
tunity of  replying.  Then  she  continued,  "  I  venture  to 
hope  your  Most  Serene  Highness  will  pardon  the  incon- 
gruity of  my  costume,"  but  even  as  she  spoke  the  words, 
her  mocking  eyes  shot  out  such  brilliant  shafts  that  the 
prince  could  not  endure  their  glance.  He  stared  at  the  ceil- 
ing, which,  in  his  case,  was  always  a  sign  of  the  most  ex- 
treme embarrassment. 

"  What !  what ! "  said  he  again.  Then  he  was  lucky 
enough  to  think  of  a  remark. 

"  Duchess,  pray  be  seated,"  and  he  himself  offered  her 
a  chair,  and  with  considerable  grace.  The  duchess  was  not 
unmoved  by  this  politeness,  and  her  indignant  glance 
softened. 

"  What !  what !  "  repeated  the  prince  once  more,  fidget- 
ing in  his  chair  as  though  he  could  not  settle  himself  firmly 
into  it. 

"  I  am  going  to  take  advantage  of  the  coolness  of  the 
night  hours  to  travel  by  post,"  continued  the  duchess,  "  and 
as  my  absence  may  be  of  considerable  duration,  I  would  not 
leave  your  Most  Serene  Highness's  dominions  without 
thanking  you  for  all  the  kindness  you  have  condescended  to 
show  me  during  the  last  five  years."  At  these  words  the 
prince  understood  at  last,  and  turned  pale.  No  man  in  the 
world  suffered  more  than  he,  at  the  idea  of  having  been 
mistaken  in  his  forecast,  but  he  took  on  an  air  of  majesty 
quite  worthy  of  the  picture  of  Louis  XIV  which  hung  in 

256 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

front  of  him.  "  Ah,  very  good,"  thought  the  duchess ; 
"  this  is  a  man." 

"  And  what  may  be  the  reason  of  this  sudden  depart- 
ure ?  "  said  the  prince  in  a  fairly  steady  voice. 

"  The  plan  is  an  old  one,"  replied  the  duchess,  "  and  a 
petty  insult  which  is  being  put  on  Monsig^ore  del  Dongo, 
who  is  to  be  sentenced  either  to  death  or  to  the  galleys 
to-morrow,  has  hastened  my  departure." 

"  And  to  what  town  do  you  proceed  ?  " 

"  To  Naples,  I  think."  Then,  rising,  she  added :  "  All 
that  now  remains  for  me  to  do  is  to  take  leave  of  your 
Most  Serene  Highness,  and  to  thank  you,  most  humbly,  for 
your  former  kindnesses."  Her  tone  was  now  so  resolute 
that  the  prince  clearly  perceived  that  in  two  seconds  every- 
thing would  be  over.  Once  the  rupture  of  her  departure 
had  taken  place,  he  knew  any  arrangement  would  be  hope- 
less. She  was  not  a  woman  to  undo  what  she  had  once  done. 
He  hurried  after  her. 

"  But  you  know  very  well,  duchess,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand,  "  that  I  have  always  liked  you,  and  that  if  you  had 
chosen,  that  affection  would  have  borne  another  name.  A 
murder  has  been  committed;  that  can  not  be  denied.  I 
employed  my  best  judges  to  carry  on  the  trial " 

At  these  words  the  duchess  drew  herself  up  to  her  full 
height.  Like  a  flash  every  semblance  of  respect  and  even 
of  urbanity  disappeared.  The  offended  woman  stood  un- 
veiled before  him,  and  an  offended  woman  speaking  to  a 
being  whom  she  knew  to  be  false.  With  an  expression  of 
the  liveliest  anger  and  even  scorn,  she  addressed  the  prince, 
laying  stress  on  every  word : 

"  I  am  leaving  your  Most  Serene  Highness's  dominions 
forever,  so  that  I  may  never  again  hear  the  names  of  Rassi 
and  of  the  other  vile  assassins  who  have  passed  sentence  of 
death  on  my  nephew,  and  on  so  many  others.  If  your  Most 
Serene  Highness  does  not  desire  to  mingle  a  feeling  of  bit- 
terness with  the  memory  of  the  last  moments  I  have  to 
spend  in  the  presence  of  a  prince  who  is  both  courteous 
and  witty,  when  he  is  not  deceived,  I  very  humbly  beseech 
your  Highness  not  to  remind  me  of  those  shameless  judges 

257 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

who  sell  themselves  for  a  decoration,  or  for  a  thousand 
crowns."  The  ring  of  nobility,  and  above  all  of  truth,  in 
her  words,  made  the  prince  shiver.  For  a  moment  he 
feared  his  dignity  might  be  compromised  by  a  yet  more 
direct  accusation.  But  on  the  whole,  his  sensation  soon  be- 
came one  of  pleasure.  He  admired  the  duchess ;  her  whole 
person,  at  that  moment,  breathed  a  beauty  that  was  sub- 
Hme.  "  Good  God,  how  beautiful  she  is !  "  said  the  prince 
to  himself ;  "  something  must  be  forgiven  to  such  a  woman 
— there  is  probably  not  another  like  her  in  Italy.  .  .  ,  Well, 
with  a  little  careful  policy,  I  may  not  find  it  impossible  to 
make  her  my  mistress  some  day.  Such  a  creature  would 
be  very  different  from  that  doll-faced  Balbi,  who  steals  at 
least  three  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year  from  my  poor 
subjects  into  the  bargain.  .  .  .  But  did  I  hear  aright?" 
thought  he  suddenly.  "  She  said,  '  sentenced  my  nephew 
and  so  many  others  ' !  "  Then  rage  got  the  upper  hand,  and 
it  was  with  a  haughtiness  worthy  of  his  supreme  position 
that  the  prince  said,  after  a  silence,  "  And  what  must  be  done 
to  prevent  the  duchess  from  departing  ?  " 

"  Something  of  which  you  are  not  capable,"  replied  the 
duchess,  and  the  most  bitter  irony  and  the  most  open  scorn 
rang  in  her  voice. 

The  prince  was  beside  himself,  but  the  habit  of  reigning 
with  absolute  authority  had  brought  him  strength  to  resist 
his  first  impulses.  "  I  must  possess  this  woman,"  thought 
he ;  "  I  owe  it  to  myself.  And  then  I  must  kill  her  with  my 
scorn.  If  she  leaves  this  study  I  shall  never  see  her  again." 
But  wild  as  he  was,  at  that  moment,  with  rage  and  hatred, 
how  was  he  to  pitch  on  a  phrase  which  would  at  once  fulfil 
what  was  due  to  himself,  and  induce  the  duchess  not  to 
forsake  his  court  that  instant ?  "A  gesture,"  thought  he, 
"  can  neither  be  repeated  nor  turned  into  ridicule,"  and  he 
put  himself  between  the  duchess  and  the  door  of  the  room. 
Soon  after  he  heard  somebody  tapping  at  the  door.  "  Who 
is  the  damned  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  swearing  with  all  the 
strength  of  his  lungs,  "  who  is  the  damned  fellow  who 
wants  to  intrude  his  idiotic  person  here  ?  "  Poor  General 
Fontana  put  in  a  pale  and  completely  puzzled  countenance. 

258 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

With  a  face  like  the  face  of  a  dying  man  he  murmured 
inarticulately,  "  His  Excellency  Count  Mosca  craves  the 
honour  of  an  audience." 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  shouted  the  prince,  and  as  Mosca 
bowed  before  him,  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  here  is  the  Duchess 
Sanseverina,  who  says  she  is  instantly  leaving  Parma  to  go 
and  settle  in  Naples,  and  who  has  been  making  impertinent 
remarks  to  me  into  the  bargain." 

"  What !  "  said  Mosca. 

"  What !  You  knew  nothing  about  the  plan  of  depart- 
ure?" 

"  Not  a  single  word.  When  I  left  the  duchess  at  six 
o'clock  she  was  cheerful  and  gay."  The  words  produced 
an  incredible  effect  upon  the  prince.  First  of  all  he  looked 
at  Mosca,  whose  increasing  pallor  proved  that  he  had 
spoken  the  truth,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  duchess's 
sudden  freak.  "  In  that  case,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  she  is 
lost  to  me  forever.  My  pleasure  and  my  vengeance  both  fly 
away  together.  At  Naples  she  and  her  nephew  Fabrizio 
will  write  epigrams  on  the  mighty  rages  of  the  little  Prince 
of  Parma."  Then  he  looked  at  the  duchess ;  the  most  vio- 
lent scorn  and  anger  were  struggling  in  her  breast,  her  eyes 
were  riveted  on  Count  Mosca,  and  the  delicate  lines  of 
her  beautiful  mouth  expressed  the  bitterest  disdain.  Her 
whole  expression  seemed  to  say  "  Cringing  courtier !  " 

"  Thus,"  thought  the  prince  after  having  scrutinized  her, 
"  I  have  lost  the  means  of  recalling  her  to  my  country. 
Once  more,  if  she  leaves  the  study  at  this  moment,  she  is 
lost  to  me.  God  only  knows  what  she  will  say  about  my 
judges  at  Naples.  And  with  the  wit  and  divine  powers  of 
persuasion  Heaven  has  given  her,  she  will  make  everybody 
believe  her.  Thanks  to  her,  I  shall  bear  the  reputation  of 
an  undignified  tyrant,  who  gets  up  in  the  night  to  look 
under  his  bed."  Then,  by  a  skilful  manoeuvre,  as  if  he 
were  walking  about  to  calm  his  agitation,  the  prince  once 
more  placed  himself  in  front  of  the  study  door.  The  count 
was  at  his  right,  some  three  paces  off,  pale,  discomposed, 
and  trembling  to  such  an  extent  that  he  was  obliged  to  sup- 
port himself  by  leaning  on  the  back  of  the  arm-chair  which 

259 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  duchess  had  occupied  during  the  beginning  of  the  audi- 
ence, and  which  the  prince  had  pushed  away  with  an  angry 
gesture. 

The  count  was  in  love.  "  If  the  duchess  goes,"  he  was 
saying  to  himself,  "  I  shall  follow  her.  But  will  she  allow 
me  to  follow  her?  That  is  the  question."  On  the  prince's 
left  the  duchess  stood  erect,  her  arms  folded  tightly  across 
her  bosom,  superbly  angry,  watching  him.  The  brilliant 
colour  which  had  lately  flushed  her  beautiful  face  had  faded 
into  the  deepest  pallor.  The  prince's  face,  unlike  those  of 
the  other  two  actors  in  the  scene,  was  red,  and  he  looked 
worried.  His  left  hand  convulsively  jerked  the  cross  fast- 
ened to  the  ribbon  of  his  order,  which  he  wore  under  his 
coat ;  his  right  hand  caressed  his  chin. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  said  he  to  the  count,  hardly 
knowing  what  he  said,  and  carried  away  by  his  habit  of 
consulting  Mosca  about  everything, 

"  Truly  I  know  not,  your  Most  Serene  Highness,"  said 
the  count,  like  a  man  who  was  breathing  out  his  last  sigh ; 
he  could  hardly  speak  the  words.  The  tone  of  his  voice  was 
the  first  consolation  to  his  wounded  pride  which  the  prince 
had  enjoyed  during  the  audience,  and  this  small  piece  of 
good  fortune  inspired  him  with  a  remark  that  was  very 
grateful  to  his  vanity. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  am  the  most  sensible  of  us  three. 
I  am  willing  to  completely  overlook  my  own  position  in  the 
world.  I  shall  speak  as  a  friend"  and  he  added,  with  a 
noble  smile  of  condescension — a  fine  imitation  of  the  good 
old  times  of  Louis  XIV — "  as  a  friend  speaking  to  his 
friends.  Duchess,"  he  added,  "what  must  I  do  to  induce 
you  to  forget  this  untimely  decision  ?  " 

"  Truly,  I  know  not,"  said  the  duchess  with  a  great  sigh ; 
"  truly  I  know  not,  so  hateful  is  Parma  to  me."  There  was 
not  the  smallest  epigrammatic  intention  in  her  words ;  her 
sincerity  was  quite  evident.  The  count  turned  sharply 
toward  her;  his  courtier's  soul  was  horrified.  Then  he  cast 
a  beseeching  glance  toward  the  prince.  The  prince  paused 
for  a  moment ;  then,  turning  with  great  dignity  and  calmness 
to  the  count,  "  I  see,"  said  he,  "  that  your  charming  friend 

260 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

is  quite  beside  herself;  that  is  quite  natural — she  adores  her 
nephew."  Then  to  the  duchess — speaking  in  the  most  gal- 
lant manner,  and  at  the  same  time  with  the  sort  of  air  with 
which  a  man  quotes  the  key  word  of  a  comedy — he  added, 
"  What  must  I  do  to  find  favour  in  those  fair  eyes?  " 

The  duchess  had  had  time  to  reflect.  In  a  slow  and 
steady  voice,  as  if  she  had  been  dictating  her  ultimatum,  she 
replied :  "  Your  Highness  would  write  me  a  gracious  letter, 
such  as  you  so  well  know  how  to  write,  in  which  you  would 
say  that,  not  being  convinced  of  the  guilt  of  Fabrizio  del 
Dongo,  chief  grand  vicar  to  the  archbishop,  you  will  not 
sign  the  sentence  when  it  is  presented  to  you,  and  that  these 
unjust  proceedings  shall  have  no  further  effect." 

"  What !  unjust  ?  "  said  the  prince,  reddening  up  to  the 
whites  of  his  eyes  and  falling  into  a  rage  again. 

"  That  is  not  all,"  replied  the  duchess  with  all  the  dignity 
of  a  Roman  matron.  "  This  very  evening,  and,"  she  added, 
looking  at  the  clock,  "  it  is  already  a  quarter  past  eleven — 
this  very  evening  your  Most  Serene  Highness  would  send 
word  to  the  Marchesa  Raversi  that  you  advise  her  to  go  to 
the  country  to  recover  from  the  fatigue  which  a  certain  trial, 
of  which  she  was  talking  in  her  drawing-room  early  this 
evening,  must  doubtless  have  caused  her." 

The  prince  was  raging  up  and  down  his  study  like  a  fury. 

"  Did  any  one  ever  see  such  a  woman  ?  "  he  cried.  "  She 
actually  fails  in  respect  to  my  person !  " 

The  duchess  replied  with  the  most  perfect  grace: 
"  Never  in  my  life  did  it  enter  my  head  to  fail  in  respect 
to  your  Most  Serene  Highness.  Your  Highness  was  so 
extremely  condescending  as  to  say  that  you  would  speak 
as  a  friend  to  his  friends.  And,  indeed,  I  have  no  desire  to 
remain  in  Parma,"  she  added,  shooting  a  glance  of  the  most 
ineffable  scorn  at  the  count.  That  glance  decided  the  prince, 
who  had  been  hitherto  very  uncertain  in  his  mind,  although 
his  words  might  have  been  taken  to  indicate  an  undertaking, 
— but  words  meant  little  to  him. 

A  few  more  remarks  were  exchanged,  but  at  last  Count 
Mosca  received  orders  to  write  the  gracious  note  for  which 
the  duchess  had  asked.    He  omitted  the  sentence :  "  These 

261 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

unjust  proceedings  shall  have  no  further  effect."  "  It  will  be 
quite  enough,"  said  the  count  to  himself,  "  if  the  prince 
promises  not  to  sign  the  sentence  when  it  is  presented  to 
him."  As  the  prince  signed  the  paper  he  thanked  him  with 
a  glance. 

The  count  made  a  great  blunder.  The  prince  was  tired 
out,  and  he  would  have  signed  everything.  He  flattered 
himself  he  had  got  through  the  scene  very  well,  and  the 
whole  matter  was  overshadowed  in  his  mind  by  the  thought, 
"  If  the  duchess  goes  away  the  court  will  grow  tiresome  to 
me  in  less  than  a  week."  The  count  noticed  that  his  master 
had  corrected  the  date,  and  inserted  that  of  the  next  day. 
He  glanced  at  the  clock ;  it  was  almost  midnight.  The  cor- 
rection only  struck  the  minister  as  a  proof  of  the  prince's 
pedantic  desire  to  show  his  exactness  and  careful  govern- 
ment. As  to  the  exile  of  the  Marchesa  Raversi,  he  made 
no  difficulty  at  all.  The  prince  took  a  particular  delight  in 
banishing  people. 

"  General  Fontana !  "  he  called  out,  half  opening  the 
door.  The  general  appeared,  wearing  a  face  of  such  aston- 
ishment and  curiosity  that  a  swift  glance  of  amusement 
passed  between  the  count  and  the  duchess,  and  in  that 
glance,  peace  was  made  between  them. 

"  General  Fontana,"  said  the  prince,  "  you  will  get  into 
my  carriage,  which  is  waiting  under  the  colonnade,  you 
will  go  to  the  Marchesa  Raversi's  house,  you  will  send  up 
your  name.  If  she  is  in  bed  you  will  add  that  you  come 
from  me,  and  when  you  reach  her  room,  you  will  say  these 
exact  words,  and  no  others :  '  Signora  Marchesa  Raversi, 
his  Most  Serene  Highness  invites  you  to  depart  to-morrow, 
before  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  to  your  castle  at  Vel- 
leia.  His  Highness  will  inform  you  when  you  may  return 
to  Parma.'  "  The  prince's  eyes  sought  those  of  the  duchess, 
who,  without  thanking  him,  as  he  had  expected,  made  him 
an  exceedingly  respectful  courtesy,  and  went  swiftly  out  of 
the  room. 

"  What  a  woman ! "  said  the  prince,  turning  toward 
Count  Mosca. 

The  count,  who  was  delighted  at  the  Marchesa  Raversi's 

262 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

exile,  which  immensely  facilitated  all  his  ministerial  actions, 
talked  for  a  full  half-hour,  like  the  consummate  courtier  he 
was ;  his  great  object  was  to  heal  the  sovereign's  vanity,  and 
he  did  not  take  leave  until  he  had  thoroughly  convinced  him 
that  there  was  no  finer  page  in  the  anecdotic  history  of 
Louis  XIV  than  that  which  he  had  just  furnished  for  his 
own  future  historians. 

When  the  duchess  got  home  she  closed  her  doors,  and 
gave  orders  that  nobody  was  to  be  admitted — not  even  the 
count.  She  wanted  to  be  alone,  and  to  make  up  her  mind 
as  to  what  she  ought  to  think  of  the  scene  that  had  just  taken 
place.  She  had  acted  at  random,  just  as  her  fancy  led  her 
at  the  moment.  But  whatever  step  she  might  have  been 
carried  away  into  undertaking,  she  would  have  adhered 
to  it  steadily.  She  never  would  have  blamed  herself,  and 
much  less  repented,  when  her  coolness  had  returned.  It  was 
to  these  characteristics  that  she  owed  the  fact  that  she  was 
still,  at  six-and-thirty  years  of  age,  the  prettiest  woman  at 
the  court. 

At  that  moment  she  was  dreaming  over  all  the  charms 
Parma  might  possess,  as  she  might  have  done  on  her  way 
back  there,  after  a  long  absence,  so  sure  had  she  been,  from 
nine  to  eleven  o'clock,  that  she  was  about  to  leave  the  city 
forever. 

"  That  poor  dear  count  did  cut  a  comical  figure  when 
he  heard  of  my  departure  in  the  prince's  presence!  He 
really  is  a  charming  fellow,  and  one  does  not  come  across 
such  a  heart  as  his  every  day.  He  would  have  resigned  all 
his  portfolios  to  follow  me.  But,  then,  for  five  whole  years 
he  has  never  once  had  to  complain  of  any  want  of  attention 
on  my  part.  How  many  regularly  married  women  could 
say  the  same  to  their  lord  and  master?  I  must  admit  there 
is  no  self-importance  nor  pedantry  about  him;  he  never 
makes  me  feel  I  should  like  to  deceive  him.  He  always 
seems  ashamed  of  his  power  when  he  is  with  me.  How  droll 
he  looked  before  his  lord  and  master!  If  he  were  here  I 
would  kiss  him.  But  nothing  on  earth  would  induce  me 
to  undertake  the  task  of  amusing  a  minister  who  has  lost 
his  portfolio.    That  is  an  illness  which  nothing  but  death  can 

263 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

cure,  and  which  kills  other  folks.  What  a  misfortune  it 
must  be  to  be  a  minister  when  you  are  young !  I  must  write 
to  him.  He  must  know  this  thing  officially  before  he  quar- 
rels with  his  prince.  But  I  was  forgetting  my  poor  serv- 
ants." 

The  duchess  rang  the  bell.  Her  women  were  still  busy 
filling  trunks,  the  carriage  was  standing  underneath  the 
portico,  and  the  men  were  packing  it.  All  the  servants 
who  had  no  work  to  do  were  standing  round  the  carriage 
with  tearful  eyes.  Cecchina,  the  only  person  allowed  to 
enter  the  duchess's  room  on  solemn  occasions,  informed  her 
mistress  of  all  these  details. 

"  Send  them  upstairs,"  said  the  duchess.  A  moment 
later  she  herself  went  into  the  anteroom.  "  I  have  received 
a  promise,"  said  she,  addressing  them,  "that  the  sentence 
against  my  nephew  will  not  be  signed  by  the  sovereign  " 
(the  Italian  mode  of  expression).  "  I  have  put  off  my  de- 
parture. We  shall  see  whether  my  enemies  have  enough 
credit  to  get  this  decision  altered." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  the  servants  be- 
gan to  shout  "  Long  live  our  lady  the  duchess ! "  and 
clapped  their  hands  furiously.  The  duchess,  who  had  re- 
tired into  the  next  room,  reappeared,  like  a  popular  actress, 
dropped  a  little  graceful  courtesy  to  her  people,  and  said, 
"  My  friends,  I  thank  you."  At  that  moment,  on  the  slight- 
est hint  from  her,  they  would  all  have  marched  in  a  body  to 
attack  the  palace.  She  beckoned  to  one  of  her  postillions, 
a  former  smuggler,  and  most  trusty  servant,  who  followed 
her  out. 

"  You  must  dress  yourself  as  a  well-to-do  peasant,  you 
must  get  out  of  Parma  as  best  you  can ;  then  hire  a  sediola, 
and  get  to  Bologna  as  quickly  as  possible.  You  will  enter 
Bologna,  as  if  you  were  taking  an  ordinary  walk,  by  the 
Florence  gate,  and  you  will  deliver  a  packet,  which  Cec- 
china will  give  you,  to  Fabrizio,  who  is  living  at  the  Pel- 
legrino.  Fabrizio  is  in  hiding  there,  and  calls  himself  Signor 
Giuseppe  Bossi.  Do  not  betray  him  by  any  imprudence; 
do  not  appear  to  know  him.  My  enemies  may  set  spies 
upon  your  heels.     Fabrizio  will  send  you  back  here  in  a 

264 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

few  hours,  or  a  few  days.    It  is  on  your  way  back,  especially, 
that  you  must  be  careful  not  to  betray  him." 

"  Ah,  the  Marchesa  Raversi's  servants,  you  mean," 
exclaimed  the  postillion.  "  We're  ready  for  them,  and  if 
it  were  the  signora's  will  they  should  soon  be  extermi- 
nated." 

"  Some  day,  perhaps.  But  for  your  life  beware  of 
doing  anything  without  my  orders."  It  was  the  copy  of 
the  prince's  note  that  the  duchess  wanted  to  send  to  Fa- 
brizio.  She  could  not  deny  herself  the  pleasure  of  amus- 
ing him,  and  she  added  a  few  words  concerning  the  scene 
of  which  the  note  had  been  the  outcome.  These  few  words 
swelled  into  a  letter  of  ten  pages.  She  sent  for  the  postillion 
again.  "  You  can  not  start,"  she  said,  "  until  four  o'clock, 
when  the  gates  open." 

"  I  thought  I  would  get  out  by  the  main  sewer ;  the 
water  would  be  up  to  my  chin,  but  I  could  get  through." 

"  No,"  said  the  duchess.  "  I  will  not  let  one  of  my  most 
faithful  servants  run  the  risk  of  a  fever.  Do  you  know 
any  one  in  the  archbishop's  household  ?  " 

"  The  second  coachman  is  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Here  is  a  letter  for  the  holy  prelate ;  slip  quietly  into 
his  palace,  and  have  yourself  taken  to  his  valet — I  would 
not  have  his  Grace  disturbed.  If  he  is  already  shut  up  in 
his  own  room,  spend  the  night  at  the  palace,  and  as  he 
always  gets  up  at  daybreak,  send  in  to-morrow  at  four 
o'clock,  say  you  have  been  sent  by  me,  ask  the  holy  arch- 
bishop's blessing,  give  him  this  packet,  and  take  the  letters 
he  may  possibly  give  you  to  Bologna."  The  duchess  was 
sending  the  archbishop  the  original  of  the  prince's  letter, 
requesting  him,  as  the  note  concerned  his  chief  grand  vicar, 
to  place  it  among  the  archiepiscopal  archives,  where  she 
hoped  her  nephew's  colleagues,  the  other  grand  vicars  and 
canons,  would  take  note  of  its  existence — all  this  under  seal 
of  the  most  profound  secrecy. 

The  duchess  wrote  to  Monsignore  Landriani  in  a  style 
of  familiarity  which  was  certain  to  delight  that  worthy  man ; 
her  signature  took  up  three  lines.  The  letter,  couched  in  the 
most  friendly  terms,  ended  with  the  words : 

265 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Angelina  Cornelia  Isola  Valserra  del  Dongo,  Duchess 
Sanseverina." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  have  written  my  name  in  full,"  said 
the  duchess,  laughing,  "  since  I  signed  my  marriage  contract 
with  the  poor  duke.  But  it  is  trifles  such  as  these  that  im- 
press people,  and  common  folk  take  caricature  for  beauty." 

She  could  not  resist  winding  up  her  evening  by  yielding 
to  the  temptation  of  writing  a  tormenting  letter  to  the 
poor  count.  She  announced  to  him,  oiUcially,  and  for  his 
guidance,  so  she  expressed  it,  in  his  intercourse  with  croivned 
heads,  that  she  did  not  feel  herself  equal  to  the  task  of  en- 
tertaining a  disgraced  minister.  "  You  are  afraid  of  the 
prince,"  she  wrote.  "  When  you  can  no  longer  see  him, 
shall  you  expect  me  to  frighten  you  ? "  She  despatched 
the  letter  instantly. 

The  prince,  on  his  side,  sent,  at  seven  o'clock  the  next 
morning,  for  Count  Zurla,  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  said : 
"  Give  fresh  and  most  stringent  orders  to  every  podestd  to 
arrest  Fabrizio  del  Dongo.  I  hear  there  is  some  chance  that 
he  may  venture  to  reappear  in  my  dominions.  The  fugitive 
is  at  Bologna,  where  he  seems  to  brave  the  action  of  our 
law  courts.  You  will  therefore  place  police  officers  who 
are  personally  acquainted  with  his  appearance:  i.  In  the 
villages  on  the  road  from  Bologna  to  Parma.  2.  In  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Duchess  Sanseverina's  house  at 
Sacca  and  her  villa  at  Castelnovo.  3.  All  round  Count 
Mosca's  country-house.  I  venture.  Count,  to  rely  on  your 
great  wisdom  to  conceal  all  knowledge  of  your  sovereign's 
orders  from  discovery  by  Count  Mosca.  Understand  clearly 
that  I  will  have  Fabrizio  del  Dongo  arrested." 

As  soon  as  this  minister  had  departed,  Rassi,  the  chief 
justice,  entered  the  prince's  study  by  a  secret  door,  and 
came  forward,  bent  well-nigh  double,  and  bowing  at  every 
step.  The  rascal's  face  was  a  study  for  a  painter,  worthy  of 
all  the  vileness  of  the  part  he  played,  and  while  the  swift  and 
disturbed  glance  of  his  eye  betrayed  his  consciousness  of  his 
own  value,  the  grinning  expression  of  arrogant  self-confi- 
dence upon  his  lips  showed  that  he  knew  how  to  struggle 
against  scorn. 

266 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

As  this  individual  is  destined  to  exert  great  influence 
over  Fabrizio's  fate,  I  may  say  a  word  of  him  here.  He  was 
tall,  with  fine  and  very  intelligent  eyes,  but  his  face  was 
seamed  by  small-pox.  As  for  intelligence,  he  had  plenty  of 
it,  and  of  the  sharpest.  His  thorough  knowledge  of  legal 
matters  was  uncontested,  but  his  strongest  point  was  his 
resourcefulness.  Whatever  might  be  the  aspect  of  a  matter, 
he  always,  with  the  greatest  ease  and  in  the  shortest  space  of 
time,  discovered  the  most  logical  and  well-founded  means  of 
obtaining  a  sentence  or  an  acquittal.  He  was,  above  all 
things,  a  past  master  in  attorney's  tricks. 

This  man,  whose  services  mighty  monarchs  would  have 
envied  the  Prince  of  Parma,  had  only  one  great  passion — 
to  talk  familiarly  with  exalted  personages,  and  entertain 
them  with  buffooneries.  Little  did  he  care  whether  the 
great  man  laughed  at  what  he  said,  or  at  his  own  person,  or 
even  made  disgusting  jokes  about  his  wife.  So  long  as  he 
saw  him  laugh,  and  was  himself  treated  with  familiarity,  he 
was  content.  Sometimes,  when  the  prince  had  exhausted 
all  possible  means  of  belittling  his  chief  justice's  dignity, 
he  would  kick  him  heartily.  If  the  kicks  hurt  him,  the 
chief  justice  would  cry.  But  the  instinct  of  buffoonery  was 
so  strong  in  him  that  he  continued  to  prefer  the  drawing- 
room  of  a  minister  who  scoffed  at  him,  to  his  own,  where 
he  held  despotic  sway  over  the  whole  legal  profession. 
Rassi  had  made  himself  quite  a  peculiar  position,  owing  to 
the  fact  that  not  the  most  insolent  noble  in  the  country  could 
humiliate  him.  His  vengeance  for  the  insults  showered  on 
him  all  the  day  long  consisted  in  retailing  them  to  the 
prince,  to  whom  he  had  acquired  the  privilege  of  saying 
everything.  It  is  true  that  the  prince's  answer  frequently 
consisted  in  a  hearty  box  on  the  ear,  which  hurt  him  hor- 
ribly, but  to  that  he  never  took  exception.  The  presence  of 
the  chief  justice  distracted  the  prince's  thoughts  in  his  hours 
of  bad  temper,  and  he  would  then  amuse  himself  by  ill  treat- 
ing him.  My  readers  will  perceive  that  Rassi  was  almost 
the  perfect  man  for  a  court.  He  had  no  honour  and  no 
humour. 

"  Secrecy,  above  all  things !  "  exclaimed  the  prince,  with- 

267 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

out  any  recognition  of  his  salutation.  The  most  courteous 
of  men,  as  a  rule,  he  treated  Rassi  like  the  merest  varlet. 
"  What  is  the  date  of  your  sentence  ?  " 

"  Yesterday  morning,  your  Most  Serene  Highness." 

"  How  many  of  the  judges  signed  it?  ** 

"  All  five." 

"And  the  penalty?" 

"  Twenty  years  in  the  fortress,  as  your  Most  Serene 
Highness  told  me." 

"  A  death  sentence  would  have  horrified  people,"  said 
the  prince,  as  though  talking  to  himself.  "  A  pity !  What 
a  shock  it  would  have  been  to  that  woman!  But  he  is  a 
Del  Dongo,  and  the  name  is  honoured  in  Parma  because  of 
the  three  archbishops  who  came  almost  one  after  the  other. 
.  .  .  Twenty  years  in  the  fortress,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  Most  Serene  Highness,"  replied  Rassi,  who 
was  still  standing  doubled  up  in  an  attitude  of  obeisance. 
"  To  be  preceded  by  a  public  apology  before  a  portrait  of 
your  Most  Serene  Highness ;  and  besides,  a  fast  of  bread 
and  water  every  Friday  and  on  the  eves  of  all  the  chief 
feast  days,  because  of  the  prisoner's  notorious  impiety.  This 
with  a  view  to  the  future,  and  to  break  the  neck  of  his 
career." 

"  Write,"  said  the  prince,  "  '  His  Most  Serene  Highness, 
having  deigned  to  grant  a  favourable  hearing  to  the  very 
humble  petitions  of  the  Marchesa  del  Dongo,  mother  of 
the  culprit,  and  the  Duchess  Sanseverina,  his  aunt,  who  have 
represented  that  at  the  period  of  the  crime  their  son  and 
nephew  was  very  young,  and  carried  away  by  his  mad  pas- 
sion for  the  wife  of  the  unfortunate  Giletti,  has  conde- 
scended, notwithstanding  his  horror  of  the  murder,  to 
commute  the  penalty  to  which  Fabrizio  del  Dongo  has 
been  condemned  to  that  of  twelve  years'  detention  in  the 
fortress.' 

"  Give  the  paper  to  me  to  sign."  The  prince  added  his 
signature  and  the  date  of  the  preceding  day.  Then,  hand- 
ing the  sheet  back  to  Rassi,  he  said :  "  Write  just  below  my 
signature :  *  The  Duchess  Sanseverina  having  once  more 
cast  herself  at  his  Highness's  feet,  the  prince  has  granted  the 

268 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

culprit  permission  to  walk  for  an  hour,  every  Thursday,  on 
the  platform  of  the  square  tower,  vulgarly  called  the  Farnese 
Tower.' 

"  Sign  that,"  said  the  prince,  "  and  keep  your  lips  sealed, 
whatever  you  may  hear  in  the  town.  You  will  tell  Coun- 
cillor de'  Capitani,  who  voted  for  two  years'  imprisonment, 
and  even  held  forth  in  support  of  his  ridiculous  opinion,  that 
I  advise  him  to  read  over  the  laws  and  regulations.  Now, 
silence  again,  and  good-night  to  you." 

Chief-Justice  Rassi  made  three  deep  bows,  very  slowly 
indeed,  and  the  prince  never  even  looked  at  them. 

All  this  happened  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  A 
few  hours  later,  the  news  of  the  Marchesa  Raversi's  exile 
had  spread  all  over  the  town  and  the  cafes.  Everybody  was 
talking  at  once  about  the  great  event.  For  some  time, 
thanks  to  the  marchesa's  banishment,  that  implacable  enemy 
of  small  cities  and  small  courts,  known  as  boredom,  fled 
from  the  town  of  Parma.  General  Fabio  Conti,  who  had 
believed  himself  sure  of  the  ministry,  pretended  he  had  the 
gout,  and  never  showed  his  nose  outside  his  fortress  for 
several  days.  The  middle  class,  and  consequently  the 
populace,  concluded  from  current  events  that  the  prince 
had  resolved  to  confer  the  archbishopric  of  Parma  on  Mon- 
signore  del  Dongo.  The  more  cunning  cafe  politicians  went 
so  far  as  to  declare  that  Archbishop  Landriani  had  been  in- 
vited to  feign  serious  illness,  and  send  in  his  resignation. 
He  was  to  be  compensated  with  a  large  pension,  charged 
on  the  tobacco  duties.  They  were  quite  certain  of  this. 
The  rumour  reached  the  archbishop,  who  was  very  much 
disturbed,  and  for  some  days  his  zeal  in  our  hero's  cause 
was  largely  paralyzed  in  consequence.  Some  two  months 
later,  this  fine  piece  of  news  appeared  in  the  Paris  press, 
with  the  trifling  alteration  that  it  was  Count  Mosca,  the 
Duchess  Sanseverina's  nephew,  who  was  supposed  to  be 
likely  to  be  appointed  archbishop. 

Meanwhile  the  Marchesa  Raversi  was  raging  at  her 
country  house  at  Velleia.  There  was  nothing  womanish 
about  her.  She  was  not  one  of  those  weak  creatures  who 
fancy  they  slake  their  vengeance  when  they  pour  out  violent 

269 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

diatribes  against  their  enemies.  The  very  day  after  her  dis- 
grace, CavaHere  Riscara  and  three  other  friends  of  hers 
waited  on  the  prince,  and  sued  permission  to  go  and  see 
her  in  her  country  place.  His  Highness  received  these  gen- 
tlemen with  the  utmost  graciousness,  and  their  arrival  at 
Velleia  was  a  great  consolation  to  the  marchesa. 

Before  the  second  week  was  out  she  had  gathered  quite 
thirty  persons  about  her — all  those  who  would  have  ob- 
tained office  in  the  Liberal  government.  Every  evening  the 
marchesa  sat  in  council  with  the  best-informed  of  her  ad- 
herents. One  day,  when  she  had  received  numerous  letters 
from  Parma  and  Bologna,  she  retired  at  a  very  early  hour. 
Her  favourite  waiting-woman  introduced  to  her  presence 
first  of  all  her  acknowledged  lover,  Count  Baldi,  a  young 
man  of  great  beauty  and  utter  futility,  and  later  on  Cava- 
Here Riscara,  who  had  been  Baldi's  predecessor.  This  last 
was  a  short  man,  dusky,  both  physically  and  morally  speak- 
ing, who  had  begun  life  by  teaching  geometry  in  the  Nobles' 
College  at  Parma,  and  was  now  a  councillor  of  state,  and 
knight  of  several  orders. 

"  I  have  the  good  habit,"  said  the  marchesa  to  the  two 
men,  "  of  never  destroying  any  paper,  and  it  serves  me 
well  now.  Here  are  nine  letters  which  the  Sanseverina  has 
written  to  me  on  various  occasions.  You  will  both  of  you 
start  for  Genoa;  there,  among  the  convicts  at  the  galleys, 
you  will  seek  out  an  ex-notary  whose  name  is  Burati,  like 
the  great  Venetian  poet,  or,  it  may  be,  Durati.  You,  Count 
Baldi,  will  be  pleased  to  sit  down  at  my  table,  and  write  at 
my  dictation: 

"  *  An  idea  has  just  struck  me,  and  I  send  you  a  word. 
I  am  going  to  my  hut  near  Castelnovo.  If  you  like  to 
come  and  spend  twelve  hours  there  with  me,  it  will  make  me 
very  happy.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  great  danger  in 
this,  after  what  has  happened.  The  clouds  are  growing 
lighter.  Nevertheless,  stop  before  you  go  into  Castelnovo. 
You  will  meet  one  of  my  servants  on  the  road.  They  are 
all  passionately  devoted  to  you.  Of  course  you  will  keep 
the  name  of  Giuseppe  Bossi  for  this  little  expedition.  I 
am  told  you  have  a  beard  worthy  of  the  most  splendid  Cap- 

270 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

uchin,  and  at  Parma  you  have  only  been  seen  with  the  de- 
cent countenance  of  a  grand  vicar.' 

"  Do  you  understand,  Riscara  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.  But  the  journey  to  Genoa  is  a  quite  un- 
necessary luxury.  I  know  a  man  in  Parma  who  has  not 
been  to  the  galleys  yet,  indeed,  but  who  can  not  fail  to  get 
there.  He  will  forge  the  Sanseverina's  handwriting  in  the 
most  successful  manner." 

At  these  words  Count  Baldi  opened  his  fine  eyes  desper- 
ately wide.    He  was  only  beginning  to  understand. 

"  If  you  know  this  worthy  gentleman  at  Parma,  whose 
interests  you  hope  to  advance,"  said  the  marchesa  to  Ris- 
cara, "  he  probably  knows  you  too.  His  mistress,  his  con- 
fessor, his  best  friend,  may  be  bought  by  the  Sanseverina. 
I  prefer  to  delay  my  little  joke  for  a  few  days,  and  run  no 
risk  whatsoever.  Start  within  two  hours,  like  two  good 
little  lambs,  don't  see  a  soul  at  Genoa,  and  come  back  as 
quickly  as  you  can."  Cavaliere  Riscara  sped  away,  laugh- 
ing, and  talking  through  his  nose  like  Pulcinello.  "  I  must 
pack  up,"  he  cried,  cantering  off  with  the  most  ludicrous 
gestures. 

He  wanted  to  leave  Baldi  alone  with  the  fair  lady.  Five 
days  later,  Riscara  brought  the  marchesa  back  her  lover, 
very  stiff  and  sore.  To  save  six  leagues,  he  had  made  him 
cross  a  mountain  on  mule-back.  He  swore  nobody  should 
ever  catch  him  making  a  long  journey  again.  Baldi  brought 
the  marchesa  three  copies  of  the  letter  she  had  dictated, 
and  six  others,  in  the  same  hand,  of  Riscara's  composition, 
and  which  might  come  in  usefully  later.  One  of  these  let- 
ters contained  some  very  pleasing  jokes  about  the  prince's 
terrors  at  night,  and  the  deplorable  thinness  of  his  mistress, 
the  Marchesa  Balbi,  who,  so  it  declared,  left  a  mark  like 
that  of  a  pair  of  tongs  on  the  cushion  of  every  arm-chair  in 
which  she  sat.  Anybody  would  have  sworn  these  missives 
were  all  in  the  Duchess  Sanseverina's  handwriting. 

"  Now,"  said  the  marchesa,  "  I  know,  without  any  pos- 
sibility of  doubt,  that  the  duchess's  best  beloved,  her  Fa- 
brizio.  is  at  Bologna,  or  in  the  neighbourhood." 

"  I  am  too  ill,"  interrupted  Count  Baldi.     "  I  beseech 

271 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

you  to  excuse  me  from  making  another  journey,  or,  at  all 
events,  let  me  rest  for  a  few  days,  and  recover  my  health." 

"  I  will  plead  your  cause,"  said  Riscara.  He  rose,  and 
said  something  to  the  marchesa  in  an  undertone. 

"  Very  good ;  I  consent  to  that,"  she  answered  with  a 
smile. 

"  Make  your  mind  easy.  You  will  not  have  to  go  away," 
said  the  marchesa  to  Baldi,  with  a  somewhat  scornful  look. 

"  Thanks,"  he  cried,  and  his  tone  was  heart-felt.  Riscara 
did,  in  fact,  set  oflf  alone,  in  a  post-chaise.  He  had  hardly 
been  two  days  at  Bologna  before  he  caught  sight  of  Fa- 
brizio  and  Marietta  in  a  carriage.  "  The  devil !  "  he  cried. 
"  Our  future  archbishop  does  not  appear  to  deny  himself 
any  pleasure.  This  must  be  revealed  to  the  duchess,  who 
will  be  delighted."  All  Riscara  had  to  do,  to  discover 
Fabrizio's  residence,  was  to  follow  him  there.  The  very 
next  morning,  the  post  brought  the  young  man  the  letter 
of  Genoese  manufacture.  He  thought  it  a  little  short,  hui 
no  idea  of  suspicion  occurred  to  him.  The  idea  of  seeing 
the  duchess  and  the  count  again  sent  him  frantic  with 
delight,  and  in  spite  of  all  Ludovico's  remonstrances,  he 
hired  a  post-horse  and  started  off  at  a  hand  gallop.  All  un- 
known to  himself,  he  was  followed  by  Riscara,  who,  when 
he  reached  the  posting-station  before  Castelnovo,  about 
six  leagues  from  Parma,  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  crowd 
collected  in  the  square  in  front  of  the  local  prison.  Its 
doors  had  just  closed  upon  our  hero,  who  had  been  recog- 
nised, as  he  was  changing  horses,  by  two  myrmidons  of  the 
law,  chosen  and  sent  out  by  Count  Zurla. 

Riscara's  small  eyes  twinkled  with  delight.  With  the 
most  exemplary  patience,  he  verified  every  incident  con- 
nected with  the  affair  that  had  just  taken  place  in  the  little 
village,  and  then  sent  off  a  messenger  to  the  marchesa 
Raversi.  After  which,  by  dint  of  walking  about  the  streets 
as  though  to  visit  the  church — a  very  interesting  building — 
and  to  hunt  up  a  picture  by  Parmegiano  which,  he  had 
heard,  existed  in  that  neighbourhood,  he  contrived  to  come 
across  the  podestd,  who  hastened  to  pay  his  respects  to  a 
councillor  of  state.     Riscara  appeared  surprised  that  the 

272 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

podestd,  had  not  despatched  the  conspirator,  on  whom  he  had 
so  luckily  laid  his  hand,  straight  to  the  citadel. 

"  There  is  some  risk,"  Riscara  added  unconcernedly, 
"  that  his  many  friends,  who  were  out  looking  for  him  yes- 
terday, to  help  him  to  get  across  the  dominions  of  his  Most 
Serene  Highness,  might  meet  the  gendarmes.  There  were 
quite  twelve  or  fifteen  of  the  rebels,  all  mounted." 

"  Intelligenti  pauca! "  exclaimed  the  podestct,  with  a  know- 
ing look. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Two  hours  later,  poor  unlucky  Fabrizio,  securely  hand- 
cuffed, and  fastened  by  a  long  chain  to  his  own  sediola, 
into  which  he  had  been  thrust,  started  for  the  citadel  at 
Parma,  under  the  guard  of  eight  gendarmes.  These  men 
had  been  ordered  to  collect  all  the  gendarmes  stationed  in 
the  villages  through  which  the  procession  might  pass  as 
they  went  along,  and  the  podestd  himself  attended  the  im- 
portant prisoner.  Toward  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  the 
sediola,  escorted  by  all  the  little  boys  in  Parma,  and  guarded 
by  thirty  gendarmes,  was  driven  across  the  beautiful  prom- 
enade, past  the  little  palace  in  which  the  Fausta  had  lived  a 
few  months  previously,  and  stopped  before  the  outer  gate 
of  the  citadel  just  as  General  Fabio  Conti  and  his  daughter 
were  about  to  issue  from  it.  The  governor's  carriage 
stopped  before  reaching  the  drawbridge,  to  allow  the  sediola 
to  which  Fabrizio  was  bound  to  pass  across  it.  The  gen- 
eral at  once  shouted  orders  to  close  the  citadel  gate,  and 
hastened  down  to  the  doorkeeper's  office  to  make  inquiries. 
He  was  more  than  a  little  surprised  when  he  recognised  the 
prisoner,  whose  limbs  had  grown  quite  stiff  from  being 
bound  to  the  sediola  during  the  long  journey.  Four  gen- 
darmes had  picked  him  up,  and  were  carrying  him  to  the 
jailer's  office.  "  It  appears,  then,"  said  the  self-sufficient 
governor  to  himself,  "  that  the  celebrated  Fabrizio  del 
Dongo,  the  man  to  whom  the  best  society  in  Parma  has 
seemingly  sworn  to  devote  its  whole  thoughts  for  the  past 
year,  is  in  my  power." 

The  general  had  met  him  a  score  of  times — at  court,  in 
the  duchess's  house,  and  elsewhere — but  he  took  good  care 
to  make  no  sign  of  recognition ;  he  would  have  been  afraid 
of  compromising  himself. 

274 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Draw  up  a  most  circumstantial  report  of  the  prisoner's 
delivery  into  my  hands  by  the  worthy  podestd  of  Castel- 
novo,"  he  called  out  to  the  prison  clerk. 

Barbone,  the  clerk  in  question,  a  most  alarming-looking 
person,  with  his  huge  beard  and  generally  martial  air,  began 
to  look  even  more  self-important  than  usual ;  he  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  German  jailer.  Believing  that  it  was  the 
Duchess  Sanseverina's  influence  which  had  prevented  his 
master,  the  governor,  from  becoming  Minister  of  War,  he 
was  even  more  insolent  than  usual  to  this  particular  prisoner, 
addressing  him  in  the  second  person  plural,  which,  in  Italy, 
is  the  tense  used  in  speaking  to  servants.  "  I  am  a  prelate 
of  the  Holy  Roman  Church,"  said  Fabrizio  steadily,  "  and 
grand  vicar  of  this  diocese;  my  birth  alone  entitles  me  to 
respect." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that,"  replied  the  clerk  impu- 
dently. "  Prove  your  assertions  by  producing  the  patents 
which  give  you  a  right  to  those  highly  respectable  titles." 
Fabrizio  had  no  patents  to  show,  and  held  his  peace.  Gen- 
eral Fabio  Conti,  standing  beside  the  clerk,  watched  him 
write  without  raising  his  own  eyes  to  the  prisoner's  face,  so 
that  he  might  not  be  obliged  to  say  he  really  was  Fabrizio 
del  Dongo. 

Suddenly  Qelia  Conti,  who  was  waiting  in  the  carriage, 
heard  a  terrible  noise  in  the  g^ard-room.  Barbone,  after 
writing  an  insolent  and  very  lengthy  description  of  the 
prisoner's  person,  had  ordered  him  to  open  his  clothes,  so 
that  he  might  verify  and  note  down  the  number  and  condi- 
tion of  the  scratches  he  had  received  in  his  affair  with 
Giletti. 

"  I  can  not,"  said  Fabrizio  with  a  bitter  smile.  "  I  am 
not  in  a  position  to  obey  this  gentleman's  orders ;  my  hand- 
cuffs prevent  it." 

"  What !  "  cried  the  general ;  "  the  prisoner  is  handcuflfed 
inside  the  fortress !  That's  against  the  rules ;  there  must 
be  a  distinct  order.    Take  oflF  the  handcuffs !  " 

Fabrizio  looked  at  him.  "  Here's  a  pretty  Jesuit," 
thought  he  to  himself ;  "  for  the  last  hour  he  has  been 
looking  at  me  in  these  handcuffs,  which  make  me  hor- 

275 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ribly  uncomfortable,  and  now  he  pretends  to  be  aston- 
ished." 

The  gendarmes  at  once  removed  the  handcuffs.  They 
had  just  found  out  that  Fabrizio  was  the  Duchess  Sanse- 
verina's  nephew,  and  lost  no  time  in  treating  him  with  a 
honeyed  politeness  which  contrasted  strongly  with  the 
clerk's  rudeness.  This  seemed  to  annoy  the  clerk,  and  he 
said  to  Fabrizio,  who  had  not  moved : 

"  Now  then,  make  haste.  Show  us  those  scratches  poor 
Giletti  gave  you  at  the  time  of  his  murder." 

With  a  bound  Fabrizio  sprang  upon  the  clerk,  and  gave 
him  such  a  cuff  that  Barbone  fell  off  his  chair  across  the 
general's  legs.  The  gendarmes  seized  Fabrizio's  arms,  but 
he  did  not  move.  The  general  himself,  and  the  gendarmes 
who  were  close  to  him,  hastily  picked  up  the  clerk,  whose 
face  was  streaming  with  blood.  Two  others,  who  were 
standing  a  little  farther  off,  ran  to  shut  the  office  door, 
thinking  the  prisoner  was  trying  to  escape.  The  non-com- 
missioned officer  in  command  was  convinced  young  Del 
Dongo  could  not  make  any  very  successful  attempt  at  flight, 
seeing  he  was  now  actually  within  the  citadel,  but  at  any 
rate,  with  the  instincts  of  his  profession,  and  to  prevent  any 
scuffle,  he  moved  over  to  the  window.  Opposite  this  open 
window,  and  about  two  paces  from  it,  the  general's  car- 
riage was  drawn  up.  Clelia  had  shrunk  far  back  within  it, 
so  as  to  avoid  witnessing  the  sad  scene  that  was  being  en- 
acted in  the  office.  When  she  heard  all  the  noise  she 
looked  out. 

"  What  is  happening?"  said  she  to  the  officer. 

"  Signorina,  it  is  young  Fabrizio  del  Dongo,  who  has 
just  cuffed  that  impudent  rascal  Barbone." 

"  What !  is  it  Signor  del  Dongo  who  is  being  taken  to 
prison  ?  " 

"  Why,  there's  no  doubt  about  that,"  said  the  officer. 
"  It's  on  account  of  the  poor  fellow's  high  birth  that  there 
is  so  much  ceremony.  I  thought  the  signorina  knew  all 
about  it."  Clelia  continued  to  look  out  of  the  carriage 
window.  Whenever  the  gendarmes  round  the  table  scat- 
tered a  little  she  could  see  the  prisoner. 

276 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Who  would  have  dreamed,"  thought  she,  "  when  I 
met  him  on  the  road  near  the  Lake  of  Como,  that  the  very 
next  time  I  saw  him  he  would  be  in  this  sad  position  ?  He 
gave  me  his  hand  then,  to  help  me  into  his  mother's  coach. 
Even  then  he  was  with  the  duchess.  Can  their  love  story 
have  begun  at  that  time  ?  " 

My  readers  must  be  informed  that  the  Liberal  party, 
led  by  the  Marchesa  Raversi  and  General  Conti,  affected 
an  absolute  belief  in  the  tender  relations  supposed  to  exist 
between  Fabrizio  and  the  duchess;  and  the  gullibility  of 
Count  Mosca,  whom  it  loathed,  was  a  subject  of  never- 
ending  pleasantry  on  its  part. 

"  Well,"  thought  Clelia,  "  here  he  is  a  prisoner,  and  the 
captive  of  his  enemies.  For,  after  all.  Count  Mosca,  even  if 
one  takes  him  to  be  an  angel,  must  be  delighted  at  seeing 
him  caught." 

A  peal  of  loud  laughter  burst  forth  in  the  guard-room. 

"  Jacopo,"  said  she  to  the  officer,  in  a  trembUng  voice, 
"  what  can  be  happening  ?  " 

"  The  general  asked  the  prisoner  angrily  why  he  struck 
Barbone,  and  Monsignore  Fabrizio  answered  very  coldly: 
'  He  called  me  a  murderer ;  let  him  show  the  patents  which 
authorize  him  to  give  me  that  title,'  and  then  everybody 
laughed." 

Barbone's  place  was  taken  by  a  jailer  who  knew  how 
to  write. 

Clelia  saw  the  clerk  come  out  of  the  guard-room,  mop- 
ping up  the  blood  that  streamed  from  his  hideous  face  with 
his  handkerchief ;  he  was  swearing  like  a  trooper.  "  That 
d — d  Fabrizio,"  he  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  shall 
die  by  no  hand  but  mine !  I'll  cheat  the  executioner  of  his 
job,"  and  so  forth.  He  had  stopped  short  between  the 
guard-room  window  and  the  carriage  to  look  at  Fabrizio, 
and  his  oaths  grew  louder  and  deeper. 

"  Be  off  with  you !  "  said  the  officer ;  "  you've  no  business 
to  swear  in  that  way  before  the  sigtiorina."  Barbone  raised 
his  head  to  glance  into  the  carriage;  his  eyes  and  Qelia's 
met,  and  she  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  horror. 
She  had  never  had  so  close  a  view  of  so  vile  a  countenance. 

277 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  He  will  kill  Fabrizio,"  said  she  to  herself.  "  I  must  warn 
Don  Cesare." 

This  was  her  uncle,  one  of  the  most  respected  priests 
in  the  town.  His  brother,  General  Conti,  had  obtained 
him  the  appointment  of  steward  and  chief  chaplain  of  the 
prison. 

The  general  got  back  into  the  carriage.  "  Would  you 
rather  go  home  ?  "  said  he  to  his  daughter,  "  or  sit  and  wait 
for  me,  perhaps  for  a  long  time,  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
palace?    I  must  go  and  report  all  this  to  the  sovereign." 

Fabrizio,  escorted  by  the  gendarmes,  was  just  leaving 
the  guard-room  to  go  to  the  room  allotted  to  him.  Clelia 
was  looking  out  of  the  carriage;  the  prisoner  was  quite 
near  her.  Just  at  that  moment  she  answered  her  father's 
question  in  these  words :  "  I  will  go  with  you,"  Fabrizio, 
hearing  them  spoken  so  close  to  him,  raised  his  eyes,  and 
met  the  young  girl's  glance.  The  thing  that  struck  him 
most  was  the  expression  of  melancholy  on  her  face.  "  How 
beautiful  she  has  grown  since  we  met  at  Como !  "  he  thought. 
"  What  deep  thoughtfulness  in  her  expression !  Those  who 
compare  her  with  the  duchess  are  quite  right.  What  an  an- 
gelic face ! " 

Barbone,  the  gory  clerk,  who  had  his  own  reasons  for 
keeping  near  the  carriage,  stopped  the  three  gendarmes 
in  charge  of  Fabrizio  with  a  gesture,  and  then,  slipping 
round  the  back  of  the  carriage  so  as  to  get  to  the  window 
on  the  general's  side,  he  said :  "  As  the  prisoner  has  used 
violence  within  the  citadel,  would  it  not  be  well  to  put  the 
handcuflfs  on  him  for  three  days,  by  virtue  of  Article  157 
of  the  regulations  ?  " 

"  Go  to  the  devil ! "  shouted  the  general,  who  saw  diffi- 
culties ahead  of  him  in  connection  with  this  arrest.  He 
could  not  afford  to  drive  either  the  duchess  or  Count  Mosca 
to  extreme  measures,  and  besides,  how  was  the  count  likely 
to  take  this  business?  After  all,  the  murder  of  a  man  like 
Giletti  was  a  mere  trifle,  and  would  have  been  nothing  at  all 
but  for  the  intrigue  that  had  been  built  upon  it. 

During  this  short  dialogue,  Fabrizio  stood,  a  superb 
figure,  amid  the  gendarmes.     Nothing  could  exceed  the 

278 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

pride  and  nobility  of  his  mien.  His  delicate,  well-cut  fea- 
tures, and  the  scornful  smile  which  hovered  on  his  lips, 
contrasted  delightfully  with  the  common  appearance  of  the 
gendarmes  who  stood  round  him.  But  all  that,  so  to  speak, 
was  only  the  external  part  of  his  expression.  Clelia's  celes- 
tial beauty  transported  him  with  delight,  and  his  eyes  spoke 
all  his  surprise.  She,  lost  in  thought,  had  not  withdrawn  her 
head  from  the  window.  He  greeted  her  with  the  most 
deferential  of  half  smiles,  and  then,  after  an  instant — 

"  It  strikes  me,  signorina,  that  some  time  ago,  and  near 
a  lake,  I  had  the  honour  of  meeting  you,  attended  by 
gendarmes." 

Clelia  coloured,  and  was  so  confused  that  she  could  not 
find  a  word  in  reply.  "  How  noble  he  looked  among  those 
rough  men !  "  she  had  been  saying  to  herself,  just  when  he 
spoke  to  her.  The  deep  pity,  and  we  might  almost  say 
emotion,  that  overwhelmed  her,  deprived  her  of  the  presence 
of  mind  which  should  have  helped  her  to  discover  an  an- 
swer. She  became  aware  of  her  own  silence,  and  blushed 
still  more  deeply.  Just  at  this  moment  the  bolts  of  the 
great  gate  of  the  citadel  were  shot  back  with  much  noise. 
Had  not  his  Excellency's  carriage  been  kept  waiting  for  a 
minute  at  least?  So  great  was  the  echo  under  the  vaulted 
roof  that  even  if  Clelia  had  thought  of  any  reply,  Fabrizio 
would  not  have  been  able  to  hear  her  words. 

Whirled  away  by  the  horses,  which  had  broken  into  a 
gallop  as  soon  as  they  had  crossed  the  drawbridge,  Clelia 
said  to  herself,  "  He  must  have  thought  me  very  absurd  " ; 
and  then  suddenly  she  added :  "  Not  absurd  only.  He  must 
have  thought  me  a  mean-souled  creature.  He  must  have 
fancied  I  did  not  return  his  salutation  because  he  is  a 
prisoner,  and  I  am  the  governor's  daughter." 

This  idea  threw  the  high-minded  young  girl  into  de- 
spair. "  What  makes  my  behaviour  altogether  degrading," 
she  added,  "  is  that  when  we  first  met,  long  ago,  and  also 
attended  by  gendarmes,  as  he  said,  it  was  I  who  was  a 
prisoner,  and  he  rendered  me  a  service — and  helped  me  out 
of  a  great  difficulty.  Yes,  I  must  acknowledge  it;  my  be- 
haviour lacks  nothing ;  it  is  full  of  vulgarity  and  ingratitude. 

279 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Alas,  for  this  poor  young  fellow !  Now  that  misfortune  has 
overtaken  him,  every  one  will  be  ungrateful  to  him.  I  re- 
member he  said  to  me  then,  '  Will  you  remember  my  name 
at  Parma?'  How  he  must  despise  me  now!  I  might  so 
easily  have  said  a  civil  word.  Yes,  I  must  acknowledge  it, 
my  conduct  to  him  has  been  abominable.  But  for  his 
mother's  kindly  oflfer  to  take  me  in  her  carriage,  I  should 
have  had  to  walk  after  the  gendarmes  through  the  dust,  or, 
which  would  have  been  far  worse,  to  ride  on  horseback 
behind  one  of  the  men.  Then  it  was  my  father  who  was 
arrested,  and  I  who  was  defenceless.  Yes,  indeed,  there  is 
nothing  lacking  to  my  behaviour,  and  how  bitterly  such  a 
being  as  he  must  have  felt  it !  What  a  contrast  between  his 
noble  face  and  my  actions !  what  dignity !  what  composure ! 
How  like  a  hero  he  looked,  surrounded  by  his  vile  enemies ! 
I  can  understand  the  duchess's  passion  for  him  now.  If  this 
is  the  effect  he  produces  in  the  midst  of  a  distressing  event, 
which  must  lead  to  terrible  results,  what  must  he  be  when 
his  heart  is  full  of  happiness  ?  " 

The  governor's  carriage  waited  for  more  than  an  hour  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  palace,  and  yet,  when  the  general  came 
down  from  the  prince's  study,  Clelia  did  not  think  he  had 
stayed  too  long. 

"  What  is  his  Highness's  will  ?  "  inquired  Clelia. 

"  His  lips  said  '  imprisonment,'  but  his  eyes  said 
*  death.' " 

"  Death !    Great  God !  "  exclaimed  Clelia. 

"  Come,  come !  hold  your  tongue,"  said  the  general 
angrily.  "  What  a  fool  I  am  to  answer  a  child's  ques- 
tions ! " 

Meanwhile  Fabrizio  had  climbed  the  three  hundred  and 
eighty  steps  which  led  to  the  Farnese  Tower,  a  new  prison 
built  at  an  immense  height  on  the  platform  of  the  great 
tower.  He  never  gave  one  thought — one  distinct  thought, 
at  all  events — to  the  great  change  which  had  just  taken 
place  in  his  life.  "  What  eyes !  "  he  kept  saying  to  himself. 
"  How  much  they  express !  what  depths  of  pity !  She  seemed 
to  be  saying :  *  Life  is  such  a  vale  of  misery ;  don't  grieve 
too  much  over  what  happens  to  you.    Are  we  not  sent  here 

280 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

on  earth  to  be  unhappy  ? '  How  those  lovely  eyes  of  hers 
gazed  at  me,  even  when  the  horses  moved  forward  so  noisily 
under  the  arch !  " 

Fabrizio  was  quite  forgetting  to  be  miserable. 

That  night  Clelia  accompanied  her  father  to  several 
great  houses.  In  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening  nobody 
knew  anything  about  the  arrest  of  the  great  culprit — this 
was  the  name  the  courtiers  bestowed  on  the  rash  and  un- 
lucky young  man  only  two  hours  later.  That  evening  it  was 
noticed  that  Clelia's  face  showed  more  animation  than  usual. 
Now  animation,  the  air  of  taking  an  interest  in  what  was 
going  on  about  her,  was  the  one  thing  generally  wanting  to 
this  beautiful  creature.  When  comparisons  were  drawn  be- 
tween her  beauty  and  that  of  the  duchess,  it  was  this  un- 
moved appearance,  this  look  of  being  above  everything, 
which  turned  the  scale  in  her  rival's  favour.  In  England  or 
France,  the  homes  of  vanity,  this  opinion  would  probably 
have  been  completely  reversed.  Clelia  Conti  was  a  young 
girl,  too  slight  as  yet  to  permit  of  her  being  compared  to 
Guido's  exquisite  figures ;  we  will  not  conceal  the  fact  that, 
according  to  the  rules  of  antique  beauty,  her  features  were 
somewhat  too  strongly  marked.  Her  lips,  for  instance, 
exquisitely  graceful  as  their  outline  was,  were  somewhat 
too  full. 

The  delightful  peculiarity  of  her  face,  that  shone  with 
the  artless  charm  and  celestial  impress  of  the  noblest  nature, 
was  that,  in  spite  of  its  rare  and  most  extraordinary  beauty, 
it  bore  no  resemblance  whatever  to  the  heads  of  the  old 
Greek  statues.  The  beauty  of  the  duchess,  on  the  contrary, 
was  almost  too  much  on  the  lines  of  the  recognised  ideal, 
and  her  essentially  Lombard  type  recalled  the  voluptuous 
smile  and  tender  melancholy  of  Lionardo  da  Vinci's  pictures 
of  the  fair  Herodias.  While  the  duchess  was  sprightly, 
bubbling  over  with  wit  and  merriment,  interesting  herself 
personally,  if  I  may  so  say,  in  every  subject  which  the  cur- 
rent of  conversation  brought  before  her  mental  eye,  Clelia, 
to  an  equal  extent,  was  calm  and  slow  to  betray  emotion — 
either  because  she  scorned  her  surroundings,  or  because 
she  regretted  some  absent  dream.    For  a  long  time  it  had 

281 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

been  believed  she  would  end  by  embracing  the  religious 
life.  She  was  now  twenty.  She  disliked  going  to  balls,  and 
when  she  did  accompany  her  father  to  such  gatherings,  she 
did  it  in  obedience  to  his  command,  and  in  order  to  serve 
the  interests  of  his  ambition. 

"  Will  it  really  never  be  possible  for  me,"  the  vulgar- 
minded  general  would  often  think,  "  to  turn  this  daughter 
of  mine,  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  virtuous  creature 
in  our  sovereign's  dominions,  to  some  account  for  my  own 
advancement?  My  life  is  too  isolated;  I  have  nobody  but 
her  in  the  whole  world,  and  a  family  which  would  give  me 
social  support  is  a  necessity  to  me,  in  order  that  in  a  cer- 
tain number  of  houses  my  worth,  and,  above  all,  my  fitness 
for  ministerial  functions,  may  be  accepted  as  the  indispen- 
sable basis  of  every  political  argument.  Well,  my  daugh- 
ter— beautiful,  good,  and  pious  as  she  is — loses  her  temper 
whenever  any  young  man  in  a  good  position  about  court 
attempts  to  induce  her  to  accept  his  advances.  As  soon  as 
the  suitor  is  dismissed,  she  takes  a  less  gloomy  view  of  his 
character,  and  she  is  almost  gay  until  another  marrying  man 
puts  in  an  appearance.  The  handsomest  man  at  court. 
Count  Baldi,  paid  his  addresses,  and  failed  to  please  her. 
The  wealthiest  man  in  his  Highness's  dominions,  the  Mar- 
chese  Crescenzi,  has  succeeded  him.  She  vows  he  would 
make  her  wretched." 

At  other  times  the  general  would  muse  thus :  "  There  is 
no  doubt  about  it,  my  daughter's  eyes  are  much  finer  than 
the  duchess's,  especially  because  their  expression  now  and 
then  is  infinitely  deeper.  But  when  is  that  splendid  expres- 
sion of  hers  to  be  seen?  Never  in  a  drawing-room,  where 
it  might  make  her  fortune,  but  when  we  are  out  of  doors, 
and  she  is  moved  to  pity,  for  instance,  by  the  sufferings  of 
some  wretched  rustic.  *  Pray  keep  some  memory  of  that 
splendid  glance  for  the  drawing-rooms  in  which  we  shall 
appear  to-night,'  I  sometimes  say  to  her.  Not  a  bit  of  it. 
If  she  does  condescend  to  go  out  with  me,  her  pure  and 
noble  countenance  bears  a  somewhat  haughty,  and  anything 
but  encouraging,  expression  of  passive  obedience."  The 
general  had  spared  no  pains,  as  my  readers  will  perceive,  to 

282 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

provide  himself  with  a  suitable  son-in-law.  But  he  spoke 
the  truth. 

Courtiers,  having  nothing  to  look  at  within  their  own 
souls,  are  very  observant  of  external  matters.  The  Par- 
mese  courtiers  had  remarked  that  it  was  especially  when 
Clelia  could  not  persuade  herself  to  cast  off  her  beloved 
reveries,  and  feign  interest  in  outside  things,  that  the  duchess 
was  fond  of  hovering  near  her,  and  tried  to  make  her  talk. 
Clelia  had  fair  hair,  which  contrasted,  very  softly,  with  her 
delicate  colouring,  somewhat  too  pale,  as  a  general  rule. 
A  careful  observer  would  have  judged,  from  the  very  shape 
of  her  forehead,  that  her  look  of  dignity,  and  her  general 
demeanour,  so  far  above  any  vulgar  seeking  after  graceful 
eflfect,  were  the  outcome  of  her  profound  indifference  to  all 
vulgar  things.  They  arose  from  an  absence  of  any  in- 
terest in  anything — not  from  any  incapacity  for  such  inter- 
est. Since  her  father  had  held  the  governorship  of  the 
citadel,  Clelia  had  lived  happy,  or,  at  all  events,  free  from 
sorrow,  in  her  rooms  in  that  lofty  building.  The  huge  num- 
ber of  steps  leading  to  the  governor's  palace,  which  stood  on 
the  terrace  of  the  great  tower,  kept  away  tiresome  visitors, 
and  for  this  reason  Clelia  enjoyed  a  quite  conventual  free- 
dom. This  almost  constituted  the  ideal  of  happiness  which 
she  had  once  thought  of  seeking  in  the  religious  life.  A 
sort  of  horror  seized  her  at  the  very  idea  of  placing  her 
beloved  solitude,  and  her  inmost  thoughts,  at  the  mercy  of 
a  young  man  whose  title  of  "  husband  "  would  give  him 
the  right  to  disturb  her  whole  inner  life.  If  her  solitude 
had  not  brought  her  happiness,  it  had  at  all  events  enabled 
her  to  avoid  sensations  which  would  have  been  too  painful. 

The  day  Fabrizio  had  been  taken  to  the  fortress,  the 
duchess  met  Clelia  at  a  party  given  by  the  Minister  of  the 
Interior,  Count  Zurla.  There  was  a  ring  of  admirers  round 
them.  That  evening,  Clelia  looked  even  more  beautiful 
than  the  duchess.  There  was  a  look  in  the  young  girl's 
eyes,  so  strange,  so  deep,  as  to  be  well-nigh  indiscreet. 
There  was  pity  in  that  look.  There  was  indignation,  too, 
and  anger.  The  gay  talk  and  brilliant  fancies  of  the  duchess 
seemed  at  moments  to  throw  Clelia  into  a  state  of  distress 

283 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

which  almost  amounted  to  horror.  "  What  sobs  and  moans 
that  poor  woman  will  pour  out  when  she  hears  that  her 
lover — that  noble-hearted  and  noble-looking  young  man — 
has  been  cast  into  prison!  And  the  sovereign's  eyes,  that 
condemned  him  to  death.  Oh,  absolute  power,  when  wilt 
thou  cease  to  crush  our  Italy  ?  Oh,  vile,  base  beings !  And 
I — I  am  a  jailer's  daughter ;  and  I  did  not  fail  to  act  up  to 
that  noble  part  when  I  would  not  condescend  to  answer 
Fabrizio.  And  once  he  was  my  benefactor!  What  can  he 
think  of  me  now,  as  he  sits  alone  in  his  room,  beside  his 
little  lamp  ?  " 

Sickened  by  the  thought,  Clelia  gazed,  with  horror  in  her 
eyes,  round  the  minister's  splendidly  lighted  rooms. 

"  Never,"  whispered  the  circle  of  courtiers  who  gathered 
round  the  two  reigning  beauties,  and  strove  to  join  in  their 
conversation,  "  never  have  they  talked  together  so  eagerly, 
and  at  the  same  time  with  such  an  air  of  intimacy.  Can  it 
be  that  the  duchess,  who  is  always  trying  to  soothe  the 
hatreds  roused  by  the  Prime  Minister,  has  pitched  on  some 
great  marriage  for  Clelia  ?  "  This  conjecture  was  strength- 
ened by  a  circumstance  which  had  never,  hitherto,  been 
noticed  at  court.  There  was  more  light,  so  to  speak,  more 
passion,  in  the  young  girl's  eyes  than  in  those  of  the  lovely 
duchess.  She,  on  her  side,  was  astonished,  and  to  her  credit 
we  may  say  it,  delighted,  by  the  new  charms  she  was 
discovering  in  the  youthful  recluse.  For  over  an  hour  she 
had  been  gazing  at  her  with  a  pleasure  such  as  is  not  often 
felt  at  the  sight  of  a  rival. 

"  But  what  can  be  happening?"  wondered  the  duchess. 
"  Never  has  Clelia  looked  so  lovely,  and  I  may  say,  so 
touching.  Can  it  be  that  her  heart  has  spoken  ?  .  .  .  But  if 
it  be  so,  her  love  is  an  unhappy  one ;  there  is  a  gloomy  pain 
at  the  bottom  of  this  new-found  animation.  .  .  .  But  an 
unhappy  love  keeps  silence.  Is  she  trying  to  tempt  back 
some  faithless  swain  by  her  social  successes  ? "  And  the 
duchess  scrutinized  all  the  young  men  standing  round.  She 
noted  no  very  striking  expression  in  any  one  of  them. 
They  all  wore  the  same  appearance  of  more  or  less  self-sat- 
isfied conceit.    "  There  is  some  miracle  here,"  thought  the 

284 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

duchess,  nettled  at  not  being  able  to  guess  what  it  all  meant. 
Where  is  Count  Mosca,  that  cleverest  of  beings?  No, 
I  am  not  mistaken,  Clelia  certainly  does  look  at  me  as  if 
I  had  roused  quite  a  new  sense  of  interest  in  her.  Is  it  the 
result  of  the  bestowal  of  some  order  on  that  crawling  cour- 
tier, her  father  ?  I  fancied  her  young  and  high-souled  nature 
incapable  of  descending  to  matters  of  pecuniary  gain. 
Can  General  Fabio  Conti  have  any  important  request  to 
make  to  the  count  ?  " 

Toward  ten  o'clock  one  of  the  duchess's  friends  came 
up  to  her  and  murmured  something  in  a  low  voice.  She 
turned  very  white.  Clelia  took  her  hand,  and  ventured  to 
squeeze  it. 

"  I  thank  you,  and  now  I  understand  you.  .  .  .  You 
have  a  noble  heart,"  said  the  duchess  with  a  great  effort. 
She  was  hardly  able  to  say  the  few  words.  She  smiled  pro- 
fusely at  the  lady  of  the  house,  who  left  her  seat  to  con- 
duct her  to  the  door  of  the  outer  drawing-room.  Such  an 
honour  was  due  to  princesses  of  the  blood  only,  and  the 
duchess  felt  its  cruel  irony  in  connection  with  her  present 
position.  So  she  smiled  and  smiled  to  the  Countess  Zurla ; 
but  though  she  tried  desperately  hard,  she  could  not  articu- 
late a  single  word. 

Clelia's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  watched  the  duchess 
pass  out  of  the  rooms,  crowded  with  all  the  most  brilliant 
society  of  the  city.  "  What  will  become  of  that  poor 
woman,"  she  thought,  "  when  she  finds  herself  alone  in  her 
carriage  ?  It  would  be  indiscreet  of  me  to  offer  to  go  with 
her.  I  dare  not.  .  .  .  How  it  would  console  the  poor  pris- 
oner, sitting  in  some  miserable  room,  if  he  could  know  how 
deeply  he  is  loved!  Into  what  horrible  solitude  they  have 
cast  him !  And  we  are  here,  in  these  brightly  lighted  rooms. 
It  is  monstrous !  Could  I  find  means  of  sending  him  a  line  ? 
Good  heavens!  That  would  be  to  betray  my  father.  His 
position  between  the  two  parties  is  so  delicate.  What  will 
become  of  him  if  he  exposes  himself  to  the  hatred  of  the 
duchess,  who  rules  the  Prime  Minister,  the  master  of  three 
parts  of  the  business  of  the  state?  And  then,  the  prince 
keeps  a  close  eye  on  everything  that  happens  in  the  fortress, 

285 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  he  will  have  no  joking  on  that  subject.  Terror  makes 
people  cruel.  ...  In  any  case,  Fabrizio  "  (Clelia  had  ceased 
saying  Monsignore  del  Dongo)  "  is  far  more  to  be  pitied. 
.  .  .  He  has  much  more  at  stake  than  the  mere  danger  of 
losing  a  lucrative  appointment.  And  the  duchess!  .  .  . 
What  a  frightful  passion  love  is !  And  yet  all  these  liars  in 
society  talk  of  it  as  a  source  of  happiness.  One  hears  old 
women  pitied  because  they  can  no  longer  feel  love  nor  in- 
spire it.  Never  shall  I  forget  what  I  have  just  seen — that 
sudden  change.    How  the  duchess's  eyes,  so  lovely,  so  shin-' 

ing,  grew  sad  and  dim  after  the  Marchese  N whispered 

those  fatal  words  in  her  ear !  Fabrizio  must  be  very  worthy 
to  be  so  much  loved." 

Amid  these  very  serious  reflections,  which  quite  filled 
Clelia's  mind,  the  complimentary  remarks  around  her  were 
more  offensive  to  her  than  ever.  To  escape  them  she 
moved  toward  an  open  window,  half  shaded  by  a  silken  cur- 
tain. She  had  a  hope  that  no  one  would  dare  to  follow  her 
into  this  retreat.  The  window  opened  on  a  little  grove  of 
orange  trees,  planted  in  the  ground;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it 
was  necessary  to  roof  them  over  every  winter.  Clelia 
breathed  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  with  the  greatest  de- 
light, and  with  this  enjoyment,  a  certain  amount  of  peace 
came  back  into  her  heart.  "  I  thought  him  a  very  noble- 
looking  fellow,"  she  mused.  "  But  imagine  his  inspiring  so 
remarkable  a  woman  with  such  a  passion !  She  has  had  the 
glory  of  refusing  the  prince's  own  advances ;  and  if  she  had 
condescended  to  desire  it  she  might  have  been  the  queen 
of  these  dominions.  My  father  says  that  the  sovereign's 
passion  was  so  great  that  he  would  have  married  her  if  ever 
he  had  been  free.  And  this  love  of  hers  for  Fabrizio  has 
lasted  so  long.  For  it  is  quite  five  years  since  we  met  thera 
near  the  Lake  of  Como.  Yes,  quite  five  years,"  she  re- 
iterated after  a  moment's  thought.  "  It  struck  me  even 
then,  when  so  many  things  were  unperceived  by  my  childish 
eyes.    How  both  those  ladies  seemed  to  admire  Fabrizio !  " 

Clelia  noticed  with  delight  that  none  of  the  young  men 
who  were  so  eager  to  talk  to  her  had  ventured  to  come  near 
her  balcony.     One  of  them,  the  Marchese  Crescenzi,  had 

286 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

made  a  few  steps  in  her  direction,  and  then  had  stopped 
beside  a  card-table.  "  If  only,"  she  said,  "  I  could  see  some 
pretty  orange  trees  like  these  out  of  my  window  in  the 
palace  in  the  fortress — the  only  one  which  has  any  shade 
at  all — my  thoughts  might  be  less  sad.  But  there  is  nothing 
to  be  seen  but  those  great  hewn  stones  of  the  Farnese 
Tower.  Ah !  "  she  said,  starting,  "  perhaps  that  is  where 
they  have  put  him!  How  I  long  for  a  talk  with  Don  Ce- 
sare ;  he  will  be  less  strict  than  the  general.  My  father  will 
certainly  tell  me  nothing  as  we  drive  back  to  the  fortress,  but 
I  shall  get  everything  out  of  Don  Cesare.  I  have  some 
money.  I  might  buy  a  few  orange  trees,  and  set  them  under 
the  window  of  my  aviary,  so  that  they  would  prevent  me 
from  seeing  the  great  walls  of  the  Farnese  Tower.  How 
much  more  I  shall  hate  them  now  that  I  know  one  of  the 
persons  shut  up  within  them!  .  .  .  Yes,  this  is  the  third 
time  I  have  seen  him :  once  at  court,  at  the  princess's  birth- 
day ball ;  to-day,  standing  with  three  gendarmes  round  him, 
while  that  horrible  Barbone  was  asking  that  the  handcuffs 
might  be  put  upon  him ;  and  then  that  time  at  the  Lake  of 
Como — that  is  quite  five  years  ago.  What  a  young  rascal 
he  looked  then !  How  he  looked  at  the  gendarmes,  and  how 
strangely  his  mother  and  his  aunt  looked  at  him!  There 
was  some  secret  that  day,  certainly — something  they  were 
hiding  among  themselves.  I  had  an  idea  at  the  time  that 
he,  too,  was  afraid  of  the  gendarmes."  Clelia  shuddered. 
"  But  how  ignorant  I  was !  No  doubt,  even  then,  the 
duchess  was  interested  in  him.  .  .  .  How  he  made  us  laugh 
after  a  few  minutes  when,  in  spite  of  their  evident  anxiety, 
the  two  ladies  had  grown  somewhat  accustomed  to  a 
stranger's  presence !  .  .  .  And  this  evening  I  could  not  an- 
swer anything  he  said  to  me.  .  .  .  Oh,  ignorance  and  timid- 
ity, how  often  you  resemble  the  vilest  things  on  earth! 
And  that  is  my  case  even  now,  when  I  am  past  twenty.  .  .  . 
I  was  quite  right  to  think  of  taking  the  veil — I  am  really 
fit  for  nothing  but  the  cloistered  life.  '  Worthy  daughter 
of  a  jailer,'  he  must  have  said  to  himself.  He  despises  me, 
and  as  soon  as  he  is  able  to  write  to  the  duchess  he  will  tell 
her  of  my  unkindness,  and  the  duchess  will  think  me  a  very 

287 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

deceitful  girl,  for  this  evening  she  may  have  believed  I  was 
full  of  sympathy  for  her  misfortune." 

Clelia  perceived  that  somebody  was  drawing  near,  with 
the  apparent  intention  of  standing  beside  her  on  the  iron 
balcony  in  front  of  the  window.  This  vexed  her,  though  she 
reproached  herself  for  the  feeling.  The  dreams  thus  dis- 
turbed were  not  devoid  of  a  certain  quality  of  sweetness. 
"  Here  comes  some  intruder.  I'll  give  him  a  cold  recep- 
tion," she  thought.  She  turned  her  head  with  a  scornful 
glance,  and  perceived  the  archbishop's  timorous  figure  edg- 
ing toward  her  balcony  by  almost  invisible  degrees.  "  This 
holy  man  has  no  knowledge  of  the  world,"  thought  Clelia 
to  herself.  "  Why  does  he  come  and  disturb  a  poor  girl 
like  me  ?  My  peace  is  the  only  thing  I  have ! "  She  was 
greeting  him  with  a  respect  not  untinged  with  haughtiness 
when  the  prelate  spoke : 

"  Signorina,  have  you  heard  the  dreadful  news  ?  " 

The  expression  of  the  young  girl's  eyes  had  completely 
changed  already,  but,  obedient  to  her  father's  instructions, 
reiterated  a  hundred  times  over,  she  replied,  with  an  air  of 
ignorance  which  her  eyes  utterly  belied: 

"  I  have  heard  nothing,  monsignore." 

"  My  chief  grand  vicar,  poor  Fabrizio  del  Dongo,  who 
is  no  more  guilty  of  the  death  of  that  ruffian  Giletti  than  I 
am,  has  been  carried  oflf  from  Bologna,  where  he  was  living 
under  the  name  of  Giuseppe  Bossi,  and  shut  up  in  your 
citadel.  He  arrived  there  chained  to  the  carriage  which 
brought  him.  A  kind  of  jailer  of  the  name  of  Barbone,  who 
was  pardoned  years  ago,  after  having  murdered  one  of  his 
own  brothers,  tried  to  use  personal  violence  to  Fabrizio, 
but  my  young  friend  is  not  a  man  to  endure  an  insult.  He 
threw  the  vile  fellow  on  the  ground,  and  was  immediately 
carried  down  to  a  dungeon,  twenty  feet  below  the  earth, 
with  handcuffs  on  his  wrists." 

"  Not  handcuffs.    No." 

"  Ah,  you  know  something,"  exclaimed  the  archbishop, 
and  the  old  man's  features  lost  their  expression  of  deep  de- 
spondency ;  "  but  before  all  things,  since  somebody  might 
come  near  this  balcony,  and  interrupt  us,  would  you  do  me 

288 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  charity  of  giving  Don  Cesare  this  pastoral  ring  of  mine 
with  your  own  hands  ?  "  The  young  girl  had  taken  the  ring 
and  did  not  know  where  to  bestow  it  so  as  to  avoid  the  risk 
of  losing  it.  "  Put  it  on  your  thumb,"  said  the  archbishop, 
and  he  slipped  it  on  himself.  "  May  I  rely  on  your  giving 
him  this  ring? " 

"  Yes,  monsignore." 

"  Will  you  promise  me  secrecy  as  to  what  I  am  going 
to  add,  even  if  you  should  not  think  it  proper  to  grant  my 
request  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  monsignore,"  replied  the  young  girl, 
alarmed  by  the  grave  and  gloomy  aspect  assumed  by  the 
old  man.  "  Our  honoured  archbishop,"  she  added,  "  can 
give  me  no  orders  that  are  not  worthy  of  himself  and  of  me." 

"  Tell  Don  Cesare  that  I  recommend  my  adopted  son 
to  his  care.  I  know  that  the  police  officers  who  carried  him 
off  did  not  even  give  him  time  to  take  his  breviary;  I  beg 
Don  Cesare  to  give  him  his  own,  and  if  your  uncle  will  send 
to-morrow  to  the  palace,  I  undertake  to  replace  the  book 
given  by  him  to  Fabrizio.  I  also  beg  Don  Cesare  to  pass 
on  the  ring,  now  on  your  pretty  hand,  to  Monsignore  del 
Dongo."  The  archbishop  was  here  interrupted  by  General 
Fabio  Conti,  who  came  to  fetch  his  daughter  and  take  her 
to  her  carriage.  A  short  conversation  ensued,  during  which 
the  prelate  showed  himself  to  be  not  devoid  of  cunning. 
Without  referring  in  the  smallest  degree  to  the  newly  made 
prisoner,  he  contrived  that  the  current  of  talk  should  lead 
up  to  his  own  enunciation  of  certain  political  and  moral  sen- 
timents, as,  for  instance :  "  There  are  certain  critical  mo- 
ments in  court  life  which  decide  the  existence  of  important 
personages  for  considerable  periods.  It  would  be  emi- 
nently imprudent  to  transform  a  condition  of  political 
coolness,  which  is  a  frequent  and  very  simple  result  of  party 
opposition,  into  a  personal  hatred."  Then  the  archbishop, 
somewhat  carried  away  by  the  great  grief  which  this  un- 
expected arrest  had  occasioned  him,  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that  while  a  man  must  certainly  preserve  the  position  he 
enjoyed,  it  would  be  wanton  imprudence  to  bring  down 
desperate  hatreds  on  his  own  head  by  allowing  himself 

289 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  be  drawn  into  certain  things  which  never  could  be  for- 
gotten. 

When  the  general  was  in  his  coach  with  his  daughter — 

"  These  may  be  called  threats,"  he  cried.  "  Threats,  to 
a  man  like  me !  "  Not  another  word  was  exchanged  between 
father  and  daughter  during  their  twenty  minutes'  drive. 

When  Clelia  had  received  the  pastoral  ring  from  the 
archbishop,  she  had  fully  determined  that  when  she  was  in 
the  carriage  with  her  father  she  would  speak  to  him  of  the 
trifling  service  the  prelate  had  asked  of  her.  But  when  she 
heard  the  word  "  threats,"  and  the  furious  tone  in  which  it 
was  uttered,  she  became  convinced  that  her  father  would  in- 
tercept the  message.  She  hid  the  ring  with  her  left  hand 
and  clasped  it  passionately.  All  the  way  from  the  minister's 
house  to  the  citadel  she  kept  asking  herself  whether  it  would 
be  a  sin  not  to  speak  to  her  father.  She  was  very  pious, 
very  timid,  and  her  heart,  usually  so  quiet,  was  throbbing 
with  unaccustomed  violence.  But  the  challenge  of  the  sen- 
tinel on  the  rampart  above  the  gate  rang  out  over  the  ap- 
proaching carriage  before  Clelia  could  pitch  on  words  ap- 
propriate to  persuade  her  father  not  to  refuse,  so  great  was 
her  fear  that  he  might  do  so.  Neither  could  she  think  of 
any  as  she  climbed  the  three  hundred  and  eighty  steps 
which  led  up  to  the  governor's  palace. 

She  lost  no  time  in  speaking  to  her  uncle ;  he  scolded 
her,  and  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  business. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"  Well,"  cried  the  general,  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight 
of  his  brother  Don  Cesare,  "  here  is  the  duchess  ready  to 
spend  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  to  make  a  fool  of  me  and 
save  the  prisoner." 

But  for  the  present  we  must  leave  Fabrizio  in  his  prison, 
high  up  in  the  citadel  of  Parma.  He  is  well  guarded  there, 
and  when  we  come  back  we  shall  find  him  safe  enough, 
though  perhaps  a  trifle  changed.  We  must  now  turn  all 
our  attention  to  the  court,  where  his  fate  is  to  be  decided 
by  the  most  complicated  intrigues,  and,  above  all,  by  the 
passions  of  a  most  unhappy  woman.  As  Fabrizio,  watched 
by  the  governor,  climbed  the  three  hundred  and  eighty 
steps  which  led  to  his  dungeon  in  the  Farnese  Tower  he 
felt,  greatly  as  he  had  dreaded  that  moment,  that  he  had  no 
time  to  think  of  his  misfortune. 

When  the  duchess  reached  home  after  leaving  Count 
Zurla's  party  she  waved  her  women  from  her,  and  then, 
throwing  herself,  fully  dressed,  upon  her  bed,  she  moaned 
aloud :  "  Fabrizio  is  in  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  and,  be- 
cause of  me,  perhaps  they  will  poison  him."  How  can  I 
describe  the  moment  of  despair  which  followed  this  sum- 
ming up  of  the  situation  in  the  heart  of  a  woman  so  unrea- 
sonable, so  enslaved  by  the  sensation  of  the  moment,  and, 
though  she  did  not  acknowledge  it  to  herself,  so  desperately 
in  love  with  the  young  prisoner? 

There  were  inarticulate  exclamations,  transports  of  rage, 
convulsive  movements,  but  not  one  tear.  She  had  sent 
away  her  women  that  they  might  not  see  her  weep.  She 
had  thought  she  must  burst  into  sobs  the  moment  she  was 
left  alone,  but  tears,  the  first  relief  of  a  great  sorrow,  were 
denied  her  utterly.    Her  haughty  soul  was  too  full  of  rage, 

291 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

indignation,  and  the  sense  of  her  own  inferiority  to  the 
prince. 

"  Is  not  this  humihation  enough  ?  "  she  cried.  "  I  am 
insulted,  and,  what  is  far  worse,  Fabrizio's  life  is  risked! 
And  shall  I  not  avenge  myself?  Beware,  my  prince!  you 
may  destroy  me — so  be  it ;  that  is  in  your  power — but  after 
you  have  done  it,  I  will  have  your  life.  Alas,  my  poor  Fa- 
brizio,  and  what  good  will  that  do  you?  What  a  change 
from  the  day  on  which  I  was  about  to  leave  Parma !  And 
yet  I  thought  myself  unhappy  then.  .  .  .  What  blindness! 
I  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  up  all  the  habits  of  a  pleasant 
life.  Alas,  all  unknowingly,  I  stood  on  the  brink  of  an 
event  which  was  to  settle  my  fate  forever.  If  the  count's 
vile  habits  of  slavish  toadyism  had  not  made  him  suppress 
the  words  *  unjust  proceedings '  in  that  fatal  note  which  I 
had  wrung  from  the  prince's  vanity,  we  should  have  been 
safe.  More  by  good  luck  than  by  good  guidance,  I  must 
acknowledge,  I  had  nettled  his  vanity  about  his  beloved 
city  of  Parma.  Then  it  was  I  who  threatened  to  depart. 
Then  I  was  free.  .  .  .  My  God!  now  I  am  nothing  but  a 
slave.  Here  I  lie,  nailed  to  this  vile  sewer;  and  Fabrizio 
lies  chained  in  the  citadel — that  citadel  which  has  been 
death's  antechamber  to  so  many  men.  And  I — I  can  no 
longer  hold  that  wild  beast  by  his  fear  of  seeing  me  forsake 
his  lair! 

"  He  is  too  clever  not  to  feel  that  I  shall  never  go  far 
from  the  hateful  tower  to  which  my  heart  is  fettered.  The 
man's  wounded  vanity  may  inspire  him  with  the  most  ex- 
traordinary notions;  their  whimsical  cruelty  would  only 
tickle  his  astounding  vanity.  If  he  puts  forward  his  nause- 
ous attempts  at  love-making  again,  if  he  says,  *  Accept  the 
homage  of  your  slave  or  else  Fabrizio  dies,'  well,  then  it 
will  be  the  old  story  of  Judith.  .  .  .  Yes,  but  though  that 
would  be  suicide  for  me,  it  would  be  murdering  Fabrizio. 
That  booby  who  would  come  after  him,  our  prince  royal, 
and  Rassi,  his  infamous  torturer,  would  hang  Fabrizio  as  my 
accomplice." 

The  duchess  cried  out  in  her  distress.  This  alternative, 
from  which  she  could  see  no  escape,  put  her  agonized  heart 

292 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  torture.  Her  bewildered  mind  could  see  no  other  proba- 
bility in  the  future.  For  some  ten  minutes  she  tossed  about 
like  a  mad  woman;  this  horrible  restlessness  was  followed 
at  last,  for  a  few  moments,  by  the  slumber  of  exhaustion; 
she  was  worn  out.  But  in  a  few  minutes  she  woke  again, 
with  a  start,  and  found  herself  sitting  on  her  bed.  She  had 
fancied  the  prince  was  cutting  off  Fabrizio's  head  before  her 
very  eyes.  The  duchess  cast  distracted  glances  all  about 
her.  When  she  had  convinced  herself,  at  last,  that  neither 
the  prince  nor  Fabrizio  were  in  her  presence,  she  fell  back 
upon  her  bed,  and  very  nearly  fainted.  So  great  was  her 
physical  weakness  that  she  had  not  strength  to  alter  her 
position,  "  O  God,  if  only  I  could  die !  "  she  said.  "  But 
what  cowardice !  Could  I  forsake  Fabrizio  in  his  misfor- 
tunes ?  My  brain  must  be  failing.  Come,  let  me  look  at  the 
truth;  let  me  coolly  consider  the  horrible  position  into 
which  I  have  sprung,  as  though  to  please  myself.  What 
mad  folly  to  come  and  live  at  the  court  of  an  absolute 
prince,  a  tyrant  who  knows  every  one  of  his  victims !  To 
him  every  glance  they  give  seems  a  threat  against  his  own 
power,  Alas !  neither  the  count  nor  I  thought  of  that  when 
I  left  Milan.  All  I  considered  were  the  attractions — a  pleas- 
ant court,  something  inferior,  indeed,  still  somewhat  re- 
sembling the  happy  days  under  Prince  Eugene. 

"  One  has  no  idea,  at  a  distance,  of  what  the  authority  of 
a  despot,  who  knows  all  his  subjects  by  sight,  really  means. 
The  external  forms  of  despotism  are  the  same  as  those  of 
other  governments.  There  are  judges,  for  instance,  but 
they  are  men  like  Rassi.  The  monster!  He  would  not 
think  it  the  least  odd  to  hang  his  own  father  at  the  prince's 
order.  ...  He  would  call  it  his  duty.  ...  I  might  buy 
over  Rassi,  but — unhappy  that  I  am — I  have  no  means  of 
doing  it.  What  have  I  to  oflFer  him  ?  A  hundred  thousand 
francs,  perhaps.  And  the  story  goes  that  when  Heaven's 
wrath  against  this  unhappy  country  last  saved  him  from  a 
dagger  thrust,  the  prince  sent  him  ten  thousand  gold  sequins 
in  a  casket.  And  besides,  what  sum  of  money  could  pos- 
sibly tempt  him?  That  grovelling  soul,  which  has  never 
read  anything  but  scorn  in  other  men's  eyes,  has  the  pleas- 

293 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ure,  now,  of  being  looked  at  with  fear,  and  even  with  re- 
spect. He  may  become  Minister  of  Police — and  why  not? 
Then  three  quarters  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  will 
pay  him  abject  court,  and  tremble  before  him  as  slavishly 
as  he  himself  trembles  before  the  sovereign. 

"  As  I  can  not  fly  this  odious  place,  I  must  be  useful  to 
Fabrizio.  If  I  live  on  alone,  solitary,  despairing,  what,  then, 
am  I  to  do  for  Fabrizio  ?  No !  forward,  miserable  woman ! 
Do  your  duty.  Go  out  into  the  world.  Pretend  you  have 
forgotten  Fabrizio.     Pretend  to  forget  you,  dear  angel  ?  " 

At  the  words  the  duchess  burst  into  tears — she  could 
weep  at  last.  After  an  hour  claimed  by  the  natural  weakness 
of  humanity,  she  became  aware,  with  some  sense  of  consola- 
tion, that  her  ideas  were  beginning  to  grow  clearer.  "  If  I 
had  a  magic  carpet,"  said  she,  "  if  I  could  carry  off  Fabrizio 
from  the  citadel,  and  take  refuge  with  him  in  some  happy 
country  where  they  could  not  pursue  us — in  Paris,  for  in- 
stance— we  should  have  the  twelve  hundred  francs  his 
father's  agent  sends  me  with  such  comical  regularity,  to  live 
on,  at  first ;  and  I  am  sure  I  could  get  together  another  three 
hundred  thousand,  out  of  the  remnants  of  my  fortune."  The 
imagination  of  the  duchess  dwelt  with  inexpressible  delight 
upon  all  the  details  of  the  life  she  would  lead  three  hundred 
leagues  from  Parma.  "  There,"  thought  she  to  herself,  "  he 
might  enter  the  army  under  an  assumed  name.  In  one 
of  those  brave  French  regiments,  young  Valserra  would 
soon  make  himself  a  reputation,  and  he  would  be  happy 
at  last." 

These  dreams  of  delight  brought  back  her  tears  again, 
but  this  time,  they  were  softer.  There  was  still  such  a  thing 
as  happiness,  then,  somewhere.  This  frame  of  mind  con- 
tinued for  a  long  time.  The  poor  woman  shrank  with  horror 
from  the  contemplation  of  the  terrible  reality.  At  last,  just 
as  the  dawn  began  to  show  a  white  light  above  the  tree  tops 
in  her  garden,  she  made  a  great  effort.  "  Within  a  few 
hours,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  I  shall  be  on  the  battle-field. 
I  shall  have  to  act,  and  if  anything  irritating  should  happen 
to  me,  if  the  prince  took  it  into  his  head  to  say  anything 
about  Fabrizio,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  be  able  to  keep 

294 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

my  self-control.  Therefore,  here  and  without  delay,  I  must 
take  my  resolution. 

"  If  I  am  declared  a  state  criminal,  Rassi  will  seize  every- 
thing there  is  in  the  palace.  On  the  first  of  the  month, 
the  count  and  I,  according  to  our  custom,  burned  all  the 
papers  of  which  the  police  might  take  advantage — and  he 
is  Minister  of  PoHce ;  there  lies  the  beauty  of  the  joke.  I 
have  three  rather  valuable  diamonds.  To-morrow  Ful- 
genzio,  my  old  boatman  from  Grianta,  shall  go  to  Geneva 
and  place  them  in  safe-keeping.  If  ever  Fabrizio  escapes 
(O  God !  be  favourable  to  me ! "  and  she  crossed  herself), 
"  the  Marchese  del  Dongo  will  perceive,  in  his  unspeakable 
meanness,  that  it  is  a  sin  to  provide  support  for  a  man  who 
has  been  prosecuted  by  a  legitimate  prince.  Then  Fabrizio 
will  get  my  diamonds,  and  so  he  will  have  bread  at  all 
events. 

"  I  must  dismiss  the  count.  .  .  .  After  what  has  hap- 
pened I  never  could  bear  to  be  alone  with  him  again.  Poor 
fellow!  he  is  not  wicked — far  from  it — he  is  only  weak. 
His  commonplace  soul  can  not  rise  to  the  height  of  ours. 
My  poor  Fabrizio,  would  you  could  be  with  me  for  an 
instant,  so  that  we  might  take  counsel  together  about  our 
danger ! 

"  The  count's  scrupulous  prudence  would  interfere  with 
all  my  plans,  and  besides,  I  must  not  drag  him  down  into 
my  own  ruin.  .  .  .  For  why  should  not  that  tyrant's  vanity 
make  him  cast  me  into  prison  ?  I  shall  have  conspired  .  .  . 
what  is  more  easy  to  prove?  If  he  would  only  send  me  to 
his  citadel,  and  I  could  contrive  to  buy  even  one  instant's 
conversation  with  Fabrizio,  how  bravely  we  would  go  to 
death  together !  But  a  truce  to  such  folly— his  Rassi  would 
advise  him  to  get  rid  of  me  by  poison.  My  appearance  in 
the  streets,  dragged  along  in  a  cart,  might  touch  the  hearts 
of  his  dear  subjects  .  .  .  but  what!  more  fancies?  Alas! 
such  foolery  must  be  forgiven  to  a  poor  woman  whose  real 
fate  is  so  sad.  The  truth  in  all  this  is  that  the  prince  will 
not  send  me  to  death,  but  nothing  would  be  easier  for  him 
than  to  cast  me  into  prison  and  keep  me  there.  He  can 
have  all  sorts  of  compromising  papers  hidden  in  a  comer 

295 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

of  my  palace,  as  was  done  in  the  case  of  poor  L .    Then 

three  judges — who  need  not  be  too  great  rogues,  for  there 
will  be  authentic  evidence — and  a  dozen  false  witnesses,  will 
do  the  rest.  Thus  I  may  be  sentenced  to  death  for  conspir- 
acy, and  the  prince,  in  his  boundless  mercy,  and  consider- 
ing that  I  had  formerly  had  the  honour  of  being  received 
by  him,  will  commute  the  penalty  to  ten  years  in  the  fortress. 
But  I,  not  to  belie  the  violent  character  which  has  drawn 
so  many  foolish  remarks  from  the  Marchesa  Raversi  and 
my  other  enemies,  shall  coolly  poison  myself — so,  at  least, 
the  public  will  kindly  believe.  But  I  will  undertake  that 
Rassi  will  make  his  appearance  in  my  dungeon,  and  politely 
oflfer  me  a  phial  of  strychnine  or  laudanum,  in  the  prince's 
name. 

"  Yes,  I  must  have  a  very  open  rupture  with  the  count, 
for  I  will  not  drag  him  down  with  my  own  fall.  That  would 
be  infamy.  The  poor  man  has  loved  me  so  sincerely.  It 
was  my  own  folly  which  led  me  to  believe  any  true  cour- 
tier's soul  had  room  in  it  for  love.  The  prince  will  very 
probably  find  some  pretext  for  throwing  me  into  prison. 
He  will  be  afraid  of  my  perverting  public  opinion  with  re- 
gard to  Fabrizio.  The  count  has  a  deep  sense  of  honour; 
that  instant  he  will  do  what  the  court  hangers-on,  in  their 
overwhelming  astonishment,  will  style  an  act  of  madness — 
he  will  leave  the  court.  I  braved  the  prince's  authority  the 
night  he  wrote  that  note ;  I  must  be  prepared  for  anything 
from  his  wounded  self-love.  Can  a  man  who  was  born  a 
prince  ever  forget  the  sensation  I  gave  him  that  evening? 
And  besides,  if  the  count  is  at  variance  with  me,  he  will 
be  in  a  better  position  to  serve  Fabrizio.  But  supposing  the 
count,  whom  my  decision  will  throw  into  despair,  were  to 
avenge  himself.  .  .  .  But  that  is  an  idea  that  would  not  oc- 
cur to  him.  He  is  not  an  intrinsically  mean  man,  like  the 
prince.  The  count  may  countersign  an  infamous  decree, 
and  groan  as  he  does  it,  but  he  is  honourable.  And  then, 
what  should  he  avenge?  The  fact  that  after  having  loved 
him  for  five  years,  and  never  given  his  love  a  single  cause 
for  complaint,  I  say  to  him :  '  Dear  count,  I  was  happy 
enough  to  love  you.    Well,  the  flame  has  burned  out ;  I  do 

296 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

not  love  you  any  more.  But  I  know  the  very  bottom  of 
your  heart ;  I  have  the  deepest  regard  for  you,  and  you  will 
always  be  the  dearest  of  all  my  friends.' 

"  What  reply  can  an  honourable  gentleman  make  to  such 
a  declaration? 

"  I  will  take  a  new  lover,  or,  at  all  events,  the  world  will 
think  so.  I  will  say  to  that  lover :  *  After  all,  the  prince  is 
quite  right  to  punish  Fabrizio's  blunder.  But  on  his  fete 
day  our  gracious  sovereign  will,  no  doubt,  set  him  at  lib- 
erty ! '  Thus  I  shall  gain  six  months.  This  new  lover, 
whom  prudence  recommends,  should  be  that  venal  judge, 
that  vile  torturer,  Rassi.  He  would  be  ennobled,  and  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  should  give  him  the  entree  into  the  best 
society.  Forgive  me,  Fabrizio,  dearest,  that  effort  is  be- 
yond my  powers.    What!  that  monster!  still  stained  with 

the  blood  of  Count  P and  of  D ?    I  should  swoon 

with  horror  if  he  came  near  me,  or,  rather,  I  should  seize 
a  knife  and  plunge  it  into  his  vile  heart.  Ask  me  not  things 
which  are  impossible ! 

"  Yes,  above  all  things,  I  must  forget  Fabrizio.  I  must 
not  betray  a  shadow  of  anger  against  the  prince.  I  must 
be  as  cheerful  as  ever.  And  my  cheerfulness  will  seem 
yet  more  attractive  to  these  sordid  souls.  First,  because  I 
shall  appear  to  submit  to  their  sovereign  with  a  good  grace ; 
and  secondly,  because,  far  from  making  game  of  them,  I 
shall  take  pains  to  show  off  their  pretty  little  points — for 
instance,  I  will  compliment  Count  Zurla  on  the  beauty  of 
the  white  feather  in  the  hat  he  has  just  sent  a  courier  to 
fetch  from  Lyons,  and  which  is  his  great  delight. 

"  I  might  choose  a  lover  in  the  Raversi's  party.  If  the 
count  retires,  that  will  be  the  ministerial  party,  and  there 
the  power  will  lie.  The  man  who  rules  the  citadel  will  be 
a  friend  of  the  Raversi,  for  Fabio  Conti  will  be  one  of  the 
ministers.  How  will  the  prince,  a  well-bred  man,  a  clever 
man,  accustomed  to  the  count's  delightful  methods,  endure 
doing  business  with  that  ox,  that  arch-fool,  whose  whole 
life  has  been  taken  up  with  the  all-important  problem  of 
whether  his  Highness's  soldiers  ought  to  wear  seven  but- 
tons on  the  breasts  of  their  tunics,  or  nine  ?  It  is  such  idiotic 

297 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

brutes  as  these — all  very  jealous  of  me,  and  there  lies  your 
danger,  my  dear  Fabrizio — it  is  such  idiotic  brutes  as  these 
who  will  decide  my  fate  and  yours.  Therefore  the  count  will 
not  resign.  He  always  fancies  resignation  is  the  greatest 
sacrifice  that  can  be  made  by  a  Prime  Minister,  and  every 
time  his  looking-glass  tells  him  he  is  growing  old,  he  offers 
to  make  that  sacrifice  for  me.  Therefore  my  rupture  with 
him  must  be  complete.  Yes,  and  there  must  be  no  recon- 
ciliation unless  that  should  appear  my  only  means  of  pre- 
venting his  retirement.  I  will  dismiss  him,  indeed,  with 
all  the  kindness  possible.  But  after  his  courtier-like  sup- 
pression of  the  words  '  unjust  proceedings '  in  the  prince's 
note,  I  feel  that  if  I  am  not  to  hate  him  I  must  spend  some 
months  without  seeing  him  at  all.  On  that  decisive  evening 
I  had  no  need  of  his  intelligence;  all  he  had  to  do  was  to 
write  under  my  dictation.  He  had  only  to  write  that  one 
sentence,  which  I  had  won  by  my  own  resolution.  His 
cringing  courtier's  instinct  was  too  much  for  him.  He  told 
me  next  morning  that  he  could  not  ask  his  prince  to  sign 
anything  so  ridiculous — that  he  would  have  had  to  issue 
letters  of  pardon.  But,  good  heavens,  when  one  has  to 
deal  with  such  people — ^those  monsters  of  vanity  and  spite 
known  as  the  Farnese — one  takes  what  one  can  get." 

At  the  thought,  the  anger  of  the  duchess  blazed  up 
afresh.  "  The  prince  deceived  me,"  she  said,  "  and  how 
basely!  .  .  .  There  is  no  excuse  for  that  man.  He  has  in- 
tellect, he  has  cleverness,  he  has  logic ;  the  only  mean  things 
in  him  are  his  passions.  We  have  remarked  it  a  score  of 
times,  the  count  and  I.  He  is  never  vulgar-minded,  ex- 
cept when  he  thinks  there  has  been  an  intention  to  insult 
him.  Well,  Fabrizio's  crime  has  nothing  to  do  with  politics ; 
it  is  a  mere  trifle  of  an  assassination,  such  as  occur  by  the 
hundred  every  year  within  his  happy  dominions,  and  the 
count  has  sworn  to  me  that  he  has  made  the  most  careful 
inquiries,  and  that  Fabrizio  is  innocent.  Giletti  was  not 
devoid  of  courage.  When  he  saw  himself  close  to  the 
frontier,  he  was  suddenly  tempted  to  get  rid  of  a  rival  who 
found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  his  mistress." 

The  duchess  pondered  long  over  the  question  of  Fa- 

298 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

brizio's  possible  culpability.  Not  that  she  considered  it  a 
very  heavy  sin  on  the  part  of  a  nobleman  of  her  nephew's 
rank  to  rid  himself  of  an  impertinent  actor,  but,  in  her 
despair,  she  was  beginning  to  have  a  vague  feeling  that  she 
would  have  to  struggle  desperately  to  prove  Fabrizio's 
innocence.  "  No,"  said  she  at  last,  "  here  is  a  decisive 
proof.  He  is  like  poor  Pietranera;  he  always  carries  arms 
in  his  pockets,  and  that  day  all  he  had  was  a  broken-down 
single-barrelled  gun,  which  he  had  borrowed  from  one  of 
the  workmen. 

"  I  hate  the  prince,  because  he  has  deceived  me,  and  de- 
ceived me  after  the  most  cowardly  fashion.  After  he  had 
signed  his  pardon,  he  had  the  poor  boy  carried  off  from 
Bologna.     But  this  account  shall  be  settled  between  us." 

Toward  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  duchess,  worn  out 
by  her  long  fit  of  despair,  rang  for  her  women.  When  they 
entered  her  room  they  screamed  aloud.  Seeing  her 
stretched  on  her  bed,  fully  dressed,  with  all  her  diamonds, 
her  face  white  as  her  sheets,  and  her  eyes  closed,  they  almost 
fancied  she  was  lying  in  state  after  her  death.  They  would 
have  thought  her  in  a  dead  faint,  if  they  had  not  recollected 
that  she  had  just  rung.  Every  now  and  then  a  slow  tear 
coursed  down  her  cheeks ;  her  women  understood,  on  a  sign 
from  her,  that  she  desired  to  be  put  to  bed. 

Twice  that  morning,  after  Count  Zurla's  party,  the  count 
had  called  upon  the  duchess.  Finding  no  admittance,  he 
wrote  that  he  desired  her  advice  for  himself.  Ought  he  to 
continue  minister  after  the  affront  which  had  been  put  upon 
him  ?  "  The  young  man  is  innocent ;  but  even  if  he  had 
been  guilty,  ought  he  to  have  been  arrested  without  any 
warning  to  me,  his  declared  protector  ?  " 

The  count  had  no  virtue ;  we  may  even  add  that  what 
Liberals  understand  by  virtue  (to  seek  the  happiness  of  the 
greatest  number)  seemed  to  him  folly.  He  believed  his 
first  duty  to  be  to  seek  the  happiness  of  Count  Mosca  della 
Rovere ;  but  when  he  spoke  of  resigning,  he  was  thoroughly 
honourable  and  perfectly  sincere.  Never  in  all  his  life 
had  he  spoken  an  untruth  to  the  duchess.  She,  however, 
paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  his  letter.    Her  course, 

299 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  a  very  painful  one,  was  settled:  she  was  to  pretend  to 
forget  Fabrizio.  After  that  effort,  everything  else  was  quite 
indifferent  to  her. 

Toward  noon  next  morning  the  count,  who  had  called 
quite  ten  times  at  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina,  was  at  last  ad- 
mitted. He  was  thunder-struck  when  he  saw  the  duchess. 
"  She  looks  forty,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  and  yesterday  she 
was  so  brilliant,  so  young;  every  one  tells  me  that  during 
her  long  conversation  with  Clelia  Conti  she  looked  quite  as 
young  as  she,  and  far  more  bewitching." 

The  duchess's  voice  and  manner  of  speaking  were  just 
as  strange  as  her  appearance.  Her  tone — passionless,  de- 
void of  all  human  interest,  of  any  touch  of  anger — drove  the 
colour  from  the  count's  face.  It  reminded  him  of  one  of 
his  friends  who,  a  few  months  previously,  when  on  the  point 
of  death,  and  after  having  received  the  sacrament,  had  de- 
sired to  speak  with  him.  After  a  few  minutes,  the  duchess 
was  able  to  speak  to  him.  She  looked  at  him,  but  her  eyes 
were  still  dim. 

"  Let  us  part,  my  dear  count,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that 
was  weak,  but  quite  articulate,  and  which  she  did  her  best 
to  render  kind.  "  Let  us  part !  It  must  be  done.  Heaven 
is  my  witness  that  for  the  last  five  years  my  conduct  toward 
you  has  been  above  reproach.  You  have  given  me  a  briU 
liant  life  in  place  of  the  boredom  which  would  have  been 
my  dreary  lot  at  Grianta.  But  for  you,  old  age  and  I  would 
have  met  together  some  years  earlier.  .  .  .  On  my  part, 
my  one  care  has  been  to  endeavour  to  make  you  happy.  It 
is  because  I  care  for  you  that  I  propose  this  separation, 
'  d  ramiable,'  as  they  say  in  France." 

The  count  did  not  understand  her.  She  was  obliged  to 
repeat  herself  several  times  over.  Then  he  grew  deadly 
pale,  and,  casting  himself  on  his  knees  beside  her  bed,  he 
poured  out  all  that  the  deepest  astonishment,  followed  by 
the  liveliest  despair,  could  inspire  in  the  heart  of  a  clever 
man  who  was  desperately  in  love.  Over  and  over  again 
he  offered  to  send  in  his  resignation,  and  follow  his  friend 
to  some  safe  retreat  a  thousand  leagues  from  Parma. 

"  You  dare  to  speak  to  me  of  departure,"  she  cried  at 

300 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

last,  "  and  Fabrizio  is  here ! "  But  seeing  that  the  name 
of  Fabrizio  pained  the  count,  she  added,  after  a  moment's 
rest,  and  with  a  sHght  pressure  of  his  hand :  "  No,  dear 
friend,  I  will  not  tell  you  that  I  have  loved  you  with  those 
passionate  transports  which  nobody,  it  appears  to  me,  can 
feel  after  thirty,  and  I  am  long  past  that  age.  You  will  have 
been  told  that  I  love  Fabrizio,  for  I  know  that  story  has 
been  rife  at  this  wicked  court."  For  the  first  time  during  this 
conversation,  her  eyes  flashed  as  she  spoke  the  word  wicked. 
"  I  swear  to  you,  before  God,  and  on  Fabrizio's  life,  that 
not  the  smallest  thing  has  ever  happened  between  him  and 
me,  which  a  third  person  might  not  have  seen.  Neither 
will  I  tell  you  that  I  love  him  exactly  as  a  sister  would 
love  him.  I  love  him,  so  to  speak,  by  instinct.  I  love  his 
courage,  so  simple  and  so  perfect  that  he  may  be  said  to 
be  unaware  of  it  himself.  I  remember  that  this  admiration 
began  when  he  returned  from  Waterloo.  He  was  still  a 
child,  in  spite  of  his  seventeen  years.  His  great  anxiety 
was  to  know  whether  he  really  had  been  present  at  the 
battle ;  and  if  that  were  so,  whether  he  could  say  he  had 
fought,  seeing  he  had  not  shared  in  the  attack  on  any  bat- 
tery or  any  column  of  the  enemy's  forces.  It  was  during 
our  serious  discussion  of  this  important  subject  that  I  be- 
gan to  notice  his  perfect  charm.  His  great  soul  was  re- 
vealed to  me.  What  skilful  lies  a  well-brought-up  young 
man  would  have  put  forward  in  his  place!  Well,  if  he  is 
not  happy,  I  can  not  be  happy.  There ;  that  sentence  ex- 
actly describes  the  condition  of  my  heart.  If  it  is  not  the 
truth,  it  is,  at  all  events,  as  much  of  the  truth  as  I  can  see." 
Encouraged  by  her  tone  of  frankness  and  friendliness,  the 
count  tried  to  kiss  her  hand.  She  drew  it  away  with  a  sort 
of  horror.  " Those  days  are  over,"  she  said.  "I  am  a 
woman  of  seven-and-thirty ;  I  am  on  the  threshold  of  old 
age.  I  feel  all  its  despondency  already;  perhaps,  indeed,  I 
am  very  near  my  grave.  That  moment  is  a  terrible  one,  so 
I  have  heard,  and  yet  I  think  I  long  for  it,  I  have  the  worst 
symptom  of  old  age.  This  horrible  misfortune  has  killed  my 
heart;  there  is  no  love  left  in  me.  When  I  look  at  you, 
dear  count,  I  only  seem  to  see  the  shadow  of  some  one 

301 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

who  was  once  dear  to  me !  I  will  say  more.  It  is  only  my 
gratitude  which  makes  me  speak  to  you  thus." 

"  What  is  to  become  of  me  ?  "  reiterated  the  count ;  "  of 
me,  who  feel  I  love  you  more  passionately  than  when  I  first 
saw  you  at  the  Scala  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  something,  dear  friend  ?  Your  talk 
of  love  wearies  me,  and  strikes  me  as  indecent.  Come," 
she  said,  and  she  tried  to  smile,  but  failed,  "  take  courage ; 
act  like  a  clever  man,  a  judicious  man,  full  of  resource  to 
meet  events.  Be  with  me  that  which  you  really  are  in  the 
eyes  of  the  outside  world — the  cleverest  man  and  the  great- 
est politician  whom  Italy  has  produced  for  centuries." 

The  count  rose  to  his  feet  and  walked  up  and  down  for 
some  moments  in  silence. 

"  Impossible,  dear  friend,"  said  he  at  last.  "  I  am  torn 
in  pieces  by  the  most  violent  passion,  and  you  ask  me  to 
appeal  to  my  own  reason.  There  is  no  reason  for  me  at 
present." 

"  Let  us  not  speak  of  passion,  I  beg  of  you,"  she  re- 
plied in  a  hard  tone,  and  for  the  first  time  in  their  two  hours' 
conversation  there  was  some  expression  in  her  voice.  In 
spite  of  his  own  despair,  the  count  endeavoured  to  con- 
sole her. 

"  He  has  deceived  me,"  she  exclaimed,  without  making 
any  answer  to  the  reasons  for  hope  which  the  count  was 
putting  before  her ;  "  he  has  deceived  me  in  the  basest 
manner,"  and  for  an  instant  her  deadly  pallor  disappeared. 
But  the  count  remarked  that  even  at  that  moment  she  had 
not  strength  to  raise  her  arms. 

"  Good  God !  "  thought  he,  "  can  it  be  possible  that  she 
is  only  ill  ?  In  that  case  this  must  be  the  beginning  of  some 
very  serious  illness."  And,  overcome  with  anxiety,  he  pro- 
posed sending  for  the  famous  Razori,  the  chief  physician 
of  that  country,  and  the  best  in  Italy. 

"  Would  you,  then,  give  a  stranger  the  pleasure  of  know- 
ing all  the  depths  of  my  despair?  ...  Is  that  the  counsel 
of  a  traitor  or  of  a  friend  ?  "  and  she  looked  at  him  with 
wild  eyes. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  said  he  to  himself  in  despair,     "  She 

302 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

has  no  more  love  for  me,  and,  what  is  worse,  she  does  not 
even  reckon  me  among  men  of  ordinary  honour." 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  added  the  count,  speaking  rapidly, 
"  that  I  was  determined,  in  the  first  instance,  to  know  all 
the  details  of  the  arrest  which  has  thrown  us  into  despair, 
and,  curiously  enough,  I  know  nothing  positive  as  yet.  I 
have  had  the  gendarmes  at  the  next  post  questioned.  They 
saw  the  prisoner  come  in  by  the  road  from  Castelnovo,  and 
were  ordered  to  follow  his  sediola.  I  immediately  sent  oflf 
Bruno,  with  whose  zeal  and  devotion  you  are  acquainted. 
He  has  orders  to  go  back  from  one  post  to  another,  and  to 
find  out  where  and  how  Fabrizio  was  arrested." 

At  the  sound  of  Fabrizio's  name  the  duchess  was  seized 
with  a  slight  convulsion. 

"  Excuse  me,  my  friend,"  she  said  to  the  count,  as  soon 
as  she  could  speak.  "  These  details  interest  me.  Tell  them 
all  to  me ;  help  me  to  understand  the  smallest  incidents." 

"  Well,  signora,"  continued  the  count,  striving  to  speak 
lightly,  in  the  hope  of  distracting  her  thoughts  a  little.  "  I 
am  rather  tempted  to  send  a  confidential  message  to  Bruno, 
and  tell  him  to  push  on  as  far  as  Bologna.  It  is  there, 
perhaps,  that  they  may  have  laid  hands  upon  our  young 
friend.    What  is  the  date  of  his  last  letter?" 

"  Tuesday ;  that  is  five  days  ago." 

"  Had  it  been  opened  in  transmission  ?  " 

"  There  was  not  a  sign  of  that.  I  must  tell  you  that  it 
was  written  on  the  most  horrible  paper;  the  address  is  in 
a  woman's  handwriting,  and  bears  the  name  of  an  old 
washerwoman  who  is  related  to  my  waiting-maid.  The 
washerwoman  believes  the  letters  have  to  do  with  a  love 
affair,  and  Cecchina  repays  her  the  charges  for  delivery, 
and  gives  her  nothing  more."  The  count,  who  had  now 
quite  taken  up  the  tone  of  a  business  man,  endeavoured,  in 
talking  the  matter  over  with  the  duchess,  to  discover  on 
what  day  Fabrizio  might  have  been  carried  off  from  Bo- 
logna. It  was  only  then  that  he,  generally  so  full  of  tact, 
discovered  that  this  was  the  tone  he  had  better  take.  These 
details  interested  the  unhappy  woman,  and  seemed  to  dis- 
tract her  thoughts  a  little.     If  the  count  had  not  been  so 

303 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

desperately  in  love,  this  simple  idea  would  have  occurred  to 
him  as  soon  as  he  entered  her  room. 

The  duchess  dismissed  him,  so  that  he  might  send  orders 
to  the  faithful  Bruno  without  delay.  When  they  touched, 
for  a  moment,  on  the  question  of  finding  out  whether  the 
sentence  had  actually  been  pronounced,  when  the  prince 
had  signed  the  note  addressed  to  the  duchess,  she,  with  a 
sort  of  eagerness,  seized  the  opportunity  of  saying  to  the 
count :  "  I  will  not  reproach  you  with  having  omitted  the 
words  *  unjust  proceedings '  from  the  note  which  you  wrote, 
and  he  signed.  That  was  your  courtier's  instinct,  which 
was  too  strong  for  you.  Unconsciously,  you  were  pre- 
ferring the  interests  of  your  master  to  the  interests  of 
your  friend.  Your  acts,  my  dear  count,  have  been  subser- 
vient to  my  orders,  and  that  for  a  very  long  time.  But  it 
is  not  within  your  power  to  change  your  nature.  As  a 
minister  you  have  great  talents,  but  you  have  the  instincts 
of  your  trade  as  well.  The  suppression  of  the  word  *  un- 
just '  has  worked  my  ruin.  But  far  be  it  from  me  to  re- 
proach you  with  it  in  any  way.  The  fault  lay  with  your 
instincts,  and  not  with  your  will. 

"  Remember,"  she  added  in  an  altered  voice,  and  in  the 
most  imperious  fashion,  "  that  I  am  not  too  much  over- 
whelmed by  Fabrizio's  imprisonment,  that  it  has  never  oc- 
curred to  me  to  leave  this  country,  and  that  my  feeling 
for  the  prince  is  one  of  the  most  profound  respect.  That 
is  what  you  have  to  say.  And  this  is  what  I  have  to  say 
to  you :  As  I  propose,  in  future,  to  direct  my  course  alone, 
I  wish  to  part  from  you  *  d,  I' amiable ' — that  is  to  say,  as 
good  old  friends.  You  must  consider  that  I  am  sixty  years 
old,  that  youth  is  dead  within  me,  that  I  can  never  feel  any- 
thing very  strongly  again,  that  love  is  no  longer  possible 
to  me.  But  I  should  be  still  more  miserable  than  I  am  if  I 
should  happen  to  compromise  your  future.  It  may  become 
part  of  my  plans  to  give  myself  the  appearance  of  having 
taken  a  young  lover,  and  I  should  not  like  to  see  you  pained 
on  that  account.  I  can  swear  to  you,  on  Fabrizio's  happi- 
ness " — and  she  paused  a  minute  on  the  words — "  that  I 
have  never  been  unfaithful  to  you  once  in  all  these  five  years 

304 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

— that  is  a  very  long  time,"  she  said.  She  tried  to  smile; 
there  was  a  movement  on  her  pallid  cheeks,  but  there  was 
no  curve  upon  her  lips.  "  I  will  even  swear  to  you  that  I 
have  never  planned  such  a  thing,  nor  even  thought  of  it. 
Now  I  have  made  that  clear,  so  pray  leave  me." 

The  count  left  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina  in  a  state  of 
despair.  He  saw  the  duchess  was  thoroughly  resolved  to 
separate  from  him,  and  he  had  never  been  so  desperately  in 
love  with  her.  This  is  one  of  the  matters  to  which  I  am 
constantly  obliged  to  return,  because,  outside  Italy,  their 
improbability  is  so  great.  As  soon  as  he  reached  his 
own  house  he  sent  off  six  different  people  along  the  road 
from  Castelnovo  and  Bologna,  all  of  them  carrying  letters. 
"  But  this  is  not  all,"  said  the  unhappy  count  to  himself. 
"  The  prince  may  take  it  into  his  head  to  have  the  unhappy 
boy  executed,  just  to  avenge  himself  for  the  tone  the 
duchess  took  with  him  on  the  day  of  that  fatal  note.  I  felt 
then  that  the  duchess  had  overstepped  a  boundary  beyond 
which  one  should  never  go,  and  it  was  to  patch  things  up 
that  I  fell  into  the  incredible  folly  of  suppressing  the  words 
'unjust  proceedings,'  the  only  ones  which  bound  the  sov- 
ereign. But  pooh !  is  there  anything  that  binds  a  man  in  his 
position  ?  It  was  certainly  the  greatest  mistake  of  my  whole 
life,  and  has  risked  everything  which  made  it  worth  living 
to  me.  I  must  use  all  my  activity  and  skill  to  repair  the 
blunder  now.  But  if  I  utterly  fail  to  gain  anything,  even 
by  sacrificing  a  certain  amount  of  my  dignity,  I  will  leave 
this  man  in  the  lurch,  and  we'll  see  whom  he  will  find  to 
replace  me,  and  realize  his  mighty  political  dreams,  and  his 
idea  of  making  himself  constitutional  King  of  Lombardy! 
Fabio  Conti  is  a  mere  fool,  and  Rassi's  talent  amounts  to 
finding  legal  reasons  for  hanging  a  man  whom  the  ruler 
dislikes." 

Once  the  count  had  thoroughly  made  up  his  mind  to 
resign  his  post  if  the  severity  with  which  Fabrizio  was 
treated  exceeded  that  of  an  ordinary  imprisonment,  he  said 
to  himself :  "  If  an  imprudent  defiance  of  that  man's  vain 
whim  costs  me  my  life,  I  will  preserve  my  honour  at  all 
events.  ...  By  the  way,  now  that  I  snap  my  fingers  at 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

my  ministerial  portfolio,  I  can  venture  to  do  a  hundred 
things  which  would  have  seemed  impossible  to  me,  even 
this  morning.  For  instance,  I  will  attempt  anything  within 
the  bounds  of  human  possibility  to  help  Fabrizio  to  escape. 
.  .  .  Good  God !  "  exclaimed  the  count,  breaking  oflf  sud- 
denly, and  his  eyes  dilated  immensely,  as  if  he  had  caught 
sight  of  some  unexpected  joy.  "  The  duchess  said  nothing 
about  escape  to  me!  Can  she  have  failed  in  sincerity  for 
once  in  her  life,  and  is  her  quarrel  with  me  merely  founded 
on  her  desire  that  I  should  deceive  the  prince?  My  faith, 
the  thing  is  done !  " 

The  count's  eyes  had  regained  their  old  expression  of 
satirical  shrewdness.  "  That  charming  creature  Rassi  is 
paid  by  his  master  for  all  those  sentences  of  his  which  dis- 
honour us  in  the  eyes  of  Europe.  But  he  is  not  the  man 
to  refuse  payment  from  me  for  betraying  his  master's 
secrets.  The  brute  has  a  mistress  and  a  confessor.  But  the 
mistress  is  too  vile  a  creature  for  me  to  converse  with; 
all  the  fruit  hucksters  in  the  neighbourhood  would  know  the 
details  of  our  interview  by  the  next  morning."  The  count, 
revived  by  this  gleam  of  hope,  was  already  on  his  way  to  the 
cathedral.  Astounded  at  the  hastiness  of  his  own  action, 
he  laughed,  in  spite  of  his  sorrow.  "  See  what  it  is,"  he 
said,  "  to  be  no  longer  minister." 

This  cathedral,  like  many  Italian  churches,  was  used  as 
a  passage  from  one  street  to  another.  In  the  distance  the 
count  noticed  one  of  the  archbishop's  grand  vicars  crossing 
the  aisle. 

"  As  I  have  met  you,"  said  he,  "  I  am  sure  you  will 
be  good  enough  to  save  my  gouty  feet  from  the  deadly 
fatigue  of  climbing  up  the  archbishop's  staircase.  I  should 
be  profoundly  grateful  to  him  if  he  would  be  so  kind  as 
to  come  down  to  the  sacristy."  The  archbishop  was  de- 
lighted at  the  message.  He  had  a  thousand  things  to  say 
to  the  minister  about  Fabrizio;  but  the  minister  guessed 
these  things  were  nothing  but  empty  phrases,  and  would  not 
listen  to  any  of  them. 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  is  Dug^ani,  the  curate  of  San 
Paolo?" 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  A  small  mind  and  a  huge  ambition,"  replied  the  arch- 
bishop ;  "  very  few  scruples,  and  excessive  poverty,  because 
of  his  vices." 

"  Zounds !  Monsignore,"  exclaimed  the  minister,  "  your 
descriptions  are  worthy  of  Tacitus,"  and  he  took  leave  of 
him  with  a  smile.  As  soon  as  he  was  back  in  his  palace 
he  sent  for  Father  Dugnani. 

"  You  direct  the  conscience  of  my  excellent  friend  Chief- 
Justice  Rassi.  Is  there  not  anything  he  would  like  to  say 
to  me  ?  "  and  without  more  words,  or  further  ceremony,  he 
dismissed  the  priest. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

The  count  considered  himself  as  already  out  of  office. 
"  Let  me  see,"  thought  he  to  himself,  "  how  many  horses 
shall  we  be  able  to  keep  after  my  disgrace,  for  that  is  what 
my  retirement  will  be  called  ?  "  The  count  reckoned  up  his 
fortune.  When  he  had  entered  the  ministry  he  had  pos- 
sessed eighty  thousand  francs.  He  now  discovered,  to  his 
great  astonishment,  that  his  whole  possessions  did  not 
amount  to  five  hundred  thousand  francs.  "  That  makes 
twenty  thousand  francs  a  year  at  the  most,"  he  mused.  *'  I 
really  am  a  terrible  blunderer.  There  is  not  a  vulgar  fellow 
at  Parma  who  does  not  believe  I  have  saved  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  a  year.  And  on  that  particular  point 
the  prince  is  more  vulgar-minded  than  anybody  else.  When 
they  see  me  in  poverty  they  will  only  say  I  am  very  clever 
about  concealing  my  wealth.  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed, 
"  if  I  am  in  office  for  three  months  longer  that  fortune  shall 
be  doubled ! "  This  idea  suggested  an  excuse  for  writing 
to  the  duchess,  and  he  seized  it  eagerly.  But  to  gain  for- 
giveness for  writing  at  all,  in  their  present  terms,  he  filled 
his  letter  up  with  figures  and  calculations.  "  We  shall  only 
have  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year,"  he  said,  "  to  keep  us 
all  three  at  Naples — Fabrizio,  you,  and  I.  Fabrizio  and  I 
will  keep  one  saddle  horse  between  us."  The  minister  had 
only  just  sent  his  letter  oflF,  when  Chief-Justice  Rassi  was 
announced.  He  received  him  with  a  haughtiness  that  bor- 
dered closely  on  impertinence. 

"  How  is  this,  sir?  "  he  cried ;  "  you  have  a  conspirator  in 
whom  I  am  interested  carried  off  from  Bologna,  and  you 
would  fain  cut  oflF  his  head,  and  all  this  without  a  word  to 
me.  May  I  inquire  if  you  know  my  successor's  name?  Is 
he  to  be  General  Conti  or  yourself  ?  " 

Rassi  was  struck  dumb.    He  had  too  little  social  experi- 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ence  to  be  able  to  judge  whether  the  count  was  speaking 
seriously  or  not.  He  turned  very  red,  and  mumbled  some 
unintelligible  words.  The  count  watched  him,  and  enjoyed 
his  confusion. 

All  at  once  Rassi  gave  himself  a  shake,  and  exclaimed 
with  perfect  glibness,  just  like  Figaro  when  he  is  caught 
red-handed  by  Almaviva : 

"  Upon  my  word,  count,  I'll  not  mince  matters  with 
you.  What  will  you  give  me  if  I  answer  all  your  questions 
just  as  I  would  answer  those  of  my  confessor  ?  " 

"  The  Cross  of  St.  Paul "  (the  Parmese  order),  "  or,  if 
you  can  furnish  me  with  a  pretext  for  granting  it  to  you, 
I  will  give  you  money." 

"  I  would  rather  have  the  Cross  of  St.  Paul,  because  that 
gives  me  noble  rank." 

"  What,  my  dear  sir !  You  still  have  some  regard  for 
our  poor  advantages  ?  " 

"  If  I  had  been  nobly  born,"  replied  Rassi,  with  all  the 
impudence  of  his  trade,  "  the  relations  of  the  people  whom 
I  have  hanged  would  hate  me,  but  they  would  not  de- 
spise me." 

"  Well,"  returned  the  count,  "  I  will  save  you  from  their 
scorn.  Do  you  enlighten  my  ignorance.  What  do  you  in- 
tend to  do  with  Fabrizio  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  the  prince  is  sorely  puzzled.  He  is  very  much 
afraid  that,  tempted  by  Armida's  lovely  eyes — excuse  this 
glowing  language,  I  use  the  sovereign's  own  words — he 
is  afraid  that,  fascinated  by  those  exquisite  eyes,  of  which 
he  himself  has  felt  the  charm,  you  may  leave  him  in  the 
lurch,  and  you  are  the  only  man  capable  of  managing  this 
Lombard  business.  I  will  even  tell  you,"  added  Rassi,  low- 
ering his  voice,  "  that  you  have  a  fine  opportunity  here,  quite 
worth  the  Cross  of  St.  Paul  that  you  are  giving  me.  The 
prince  would  confer  on  you,  as  a  reward  from  the  nation,  a 
fine  property  worth  six  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  he 
would  cut  off  his  own  domains,  or  else  a  g^ant  of  three  hun- 
dred thousand  crowns,  on  condition  of  your  undertaking 
not  to  interfere  about  Fabrizio  del  Dongo,  or  at  all  events 
only  to  mention  the  matter  to  him  in  public." 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  I  expected  something  better  than  that,"  said  the  count. 
"  If  I  don't  interfere  about  Fabrizio  I  must  quarrel  with 
the  duchess." 

"  Well,  that  again  is  just  what  the  prince  says.  Between 
ourselves,  the  fact  is  that  he  is  furiously  angry  with  the 
duchess,  and  he  is  afraid  that  to  console  yourself  for  your 
quarrel  with  that  charming  lady  you  may  ask  him,  now  that 
your  wife  is  dead,  to  grant  you  the  hand  of  his  cousin, 
Princess  Isota — she  is  not  more  than  fifty  years  old." 

"  He  has  guessed  aright,"  replied  the  count.  "  Our 
master  is  the  cleverest  man  in  his  own  dominions." 

Never  had  the  whimsical  notion  of  marrying  this  elderly 
princess  entered  the  count's  head.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  uncongenial  to  a  man  with  his  mortal  hatred  of 
court  ceremonial.  He  began  rapping  his  snuff-box  on  the 
top  of  a  little  marble  table,  close  to  his  arm-chair. 

Rassi  took  his  perplexed  gesture  to  be  the  possible  har- 
binger of  a  stroke  of  good  fortune ;  his  eyes  shone. 

"  I  beg  of  you,  count,"  he  cried,  "  if  your  Excellency 
proposes  to  accept  either  the  property  worth  six  hundred 
thousand  francs,  or  the  money  grant,  not  to  choose  anybody 
but  myself  to  negotiate  the  matter  for  you.  I  would  under- 
take," he  added,  dropping  his  voice,  "  to  get  the  money 
grant  increased,  or  even  to  add  a  considerable  tract  of  forest 
to  the  landed  property.  If  your  Excellency  would  only 
condescend  to  impart  a  little  gentleness  and  caution  into 
your  manner  of  speaking  of  the  brat  shut  up  yonder,  the 
landed  property  bestowed  on  you  by  the  nation's  gratitude 
might  be  turned  into  a  duchy,  I  tell  your  Excellency  again, 
the  prince,  at  the  present  moment,  loathes  the  duchess.  But 
he  is  in  a  very  great  difficulty — to  such  a  point,  indeed,  that 
I  have  sometimes  imagined  there  must  be  some  secret  mat- 
ter which  he  does  not  dare  to  acknowledge  to  me.  At  any 
rate,  there  is  a  perfect  gold  mine  for  us  both  in  the  business, 
for  I  can  sell  you  his  most  private  secrets,  and  very  easily, 
too,  seeing  I  am  looked  on  as  your  sworn  enemy.  After 
all,  furious  though  he  is  with  the  duchess,  he  believes,  as 
we  all  do,  that  you  are  the  only  person  in  the  world  who 
can   successfully   carry   through   the   secret   arrangements 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

about  the  Milanese  territory.  Will  your  Excellency  give 
me  leave  to  repeat  the  sovereign's  expression,  word  for 
word?"  said  Rassi,  growing  more  eager.  "Often  there 
are  features  in  the  mere  positions  of  words  which  no  para- 
phrase can  render,  and  you  may  see  more  in  them  than 
I  do." 

"  I  give  you  full  leave,"  said  the  count,  who  was  still 
rapping  the  marble  table  absently  with  his  gold  snuflF-box ; 
"  I  give  you  full  leave,  and  I  shall  be  grateful." 

"  If  you  will  give  me  an  hereditary  patent  of  nobility, 
independently  of  the  Cross,  I  shall  be  more  than  satisfied. 
When  I  mention  the  idea  of  nobility  to  the  prince,  he  an- 
swers :  *  Turn  a  rascal  like  you  into  a  noble !  I  should 
have  to  shut  up  shop  the  very  next  day ;  not  a  soul  in  Parma 
would  ever  seek  for  rank  again.*  To  come  back  to  the 
Milanese  business,  the  prince  said  to  me,  only  three  days 
ago :  *  That  knave  is  the  only  man  who  can  carry  on  the 
thread  of  our  intrigues.  If  I  turn  him  away,  or  if  he  follows 
the  duchess,  I  may  as  well  give  up  all  hope  of  one  day 
seeing  myself  the  Liberal  and  adored  ruler  of  all  Italy.'  " 

At  these  words  the  count  breathed  more  freely.  "  Fa- 
brizio  will  not  die,"  said  he  to  himself. 

Never  before,  in  the  whole  of  his  life,  had  Rassi  been 
admitted  to  familiar  conversation  with  the  Prime  Minister. 
He  was  beside  himself  with  delight.  He  felt  himself  on  the 
eve  of  bidding  farewell  to  that  cognomen  of  Rassi,  which 
had  become  synonymous  with  everything  that  was  mean 
and  vile  throughout  the  whole  country.  The  common 
people  called  all  mad  dogs  Rassi;  only  quite  lately  soldiers 
had  fought  duels  because  the  name  had  been  applied  to  them 
by  some  of  their  comrades.  Never  a  week  passed  that  the 
unlucky  name  did  not  appear  in  some  piece  of  low  dog- 
gerel. His  son,  an  innocent  schoolboy  of  sixteen  years  of 
age,  dared  not  show  himself  in  the  cafes  because  of  his  name. 

The  scalding  memory  of  all  these  delightful  features  of 
his  position  drove  him  to  commit  an  imprudence. 

"  I  have  a  property,"  said  he  to  the  count,  edging  his 
seat  close  to  the  Prime  Minister's  arm-chair ;  "  it  is  called 
Riva.    I  should  like  to  be  Baron  Riva." 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  Prime  Minister.  Rassi  quite  lost 
his  head. 

"  Well,  then,  count,  I  will  dare  to  be  indiscreet ;  I  will 
venture  to  guess  the  object  of  your  desire.  You  aspire  to 
the  hand  of  Princess  Isota,  and  that  is  a  noble  ambition. 
Once  you  are  related  to  the  prince,  you  are  safe  from  all  dis- 
grace; you  have  a  tight  hold  upon  our  friend.  I  will  not 
conceal  from  you  that  the  idea  of  this  marriage  with  Princess 
Isota  is  odious  to  him.  But  if  your  business  were  in  the 
hands  of  a  skilful  man,  well  paid,  we  need  not  despair  of 
success." 

"  I,  my  dear  Baron,  should  certainly  despair.  I  repudi- 
ate beforehand  everything  you  may  say  in  my  name.  But, 
on  the  day  when  that  illustrious  alliance  at  last  crowns  my 
earnest  hopes,  and  raises  me  to  that  mighty  position  in  the 
state,  I  will  either  give  you  three  hundred  thousand  francs 
of  my  own,  or  else  I  will  advise  the  prince  to  show  you 
some  mark  of  favour,  which  you  yourself  may  prefer  to  that 
sum  of  money." 

This  conversation  may  seem  a  lengthy  one  to  the  reader, 
yet  we  have  suppressed  more  than  half  of  it.  It  lasted  for 
another  two  hours.  Rassi  left  the  count's  house,  half  de- 
lirious with  delight.  The  count  remained,  with  great  hopes 
of  saving  Fabrizio,  and  more  determined  than  ever  to  re- 
sign. 

He  felt  convinced  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  renew 
his  credit  by  the  presence  of  such  men  as  Rassi  and  Conti 
in  power.  He  dwelt  with  the  keenest  delight  on  a  method 
of  revenging  himself  on  the  prince  which  had  just  occurred 
to  him.  "  He  may  drive  the  duchess  out,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  but,  by  my  soul !  he  shall  give  up  his  hope  of  being  con- 
stitutional King  of  Lombardy."  The  whole  idea  was  a 
ridiculous  fancy;  the  prince,  though  a  clever  man,  had 
dreamed  over  it  till  he  had  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  it. 

The  count  flew  on  wings  of  delight  to  retail  this  con- 
versation with  the  chief  justice  to  the  duchess.  He  found 
her  door  closed;  the  porter  hardly  dared  to  tell  him  that 
he  had  received  the  order  from  his  mistress's  own  lips. 
Sadly  the  count  retraced  his  steps  to  the  ministry ;  the  mis- 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

fortune  which  had  befallen  him  had  quite  wiped  out  the  joy 
caused  by  his  conversation  with  the  prince's  confidant.  Too 
disheartened  to  do  anything  else,  he  was  wandering  drearily 
up  and  down  his  picture  gallery,  when,  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later,  the  following  note  was  delivered  to  him: 

"  Since  it  is  true,  dear  and  kind  friend,  that  we  are  now 
no  more  than  friends,  you  must  only  come  to  see  me  three 
times  a  week.  After  a  fortnight  we  will  reduce  these  visits, 
to  which  my  heart  still  clings,  to  two  in  the  month.  If  you 
desire  to  please  me,  you  will  give  publicity  to  this  rupture  of 
ours.  If  you  would  bring  back  almost  all  the  love  I  once 
felt  for  you,  you  would  choose  another  woman  to  be  your 
friend.  As  for  me,  I  intend  to  be  very  gay;  I  propose  to 
go  out  a  great  deal;  perhaps  I  shall  even  find  some  clever 
man  who  may  help  me  to  forget  my  sorrows.  As  a  friend, 
indeed,  you  will  always  hold  the  first  place  in  my  heart,  but 
I  do  not  wish  it  to  be  said  that  my  action  has  been  dic- 
tated by  your  wisdom.  And  above  all  things,  I  wish  it  to 
be  well  known  that  I  have  lost  all  influence  over  your  de- 
cisions. In  a  word,  dear  count,  believe  that  you  will  always 
be  my  dearest  friend,  and  never  anything  else.  I  beg  you 
will  not  nurse  any  thought  of  change ;  this  is  the  very  end. 
You  may  reckon  on  my  unchanging  regard." 

The  last  words  were  too  much  for  the  count's  courage ; 
he  wrote  an  eloquent  letter  to  the  prince,  resigning  all  his 
posts,  and  sent  it  to  the  duchess,  with  the  request  that  she 
would  send  it  over  to  the  palace.  In  a  few  moments  his 
resignation  came  back  to  him,  torn  into  four  pieces,  and  on 
one  of  the  blank  spaces  on  the  paper  the  duchess  had  con- 
descended to  write,  "  No !  a  thousand  times  No !  " 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  poor  minister's  de- 
spair. "  She  is  right.  I  admit  it,"  he  reiterated  over  and 
over  again.  "  My  omission  of  the  words  *  unjust  proceed- 
ings '  is  a  terrible  misfortune.  It  will  end,  perhaps,  in  Fa- 
brizio's  death,  and  that  will  involve  my  own." 

It  was  with  a  sick  weight  at  his  heart  that  the  count,  who 
would  not  appear  at  the  palace  without  being  sent  for,  wrote 
out,  with  his  own  hand,  the  motu  propria  which  appointed 
Rassi  a  Knight  of  the  Order  of  St.  Paul,  and  conferred  on 

313 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

him  a  title  of  hereditary  nobility.  To  this  document  the 
count  added  a  report,  covering  half  a  page,  which  laid  the 
state  reasons  rendering  this  step  desirable,  before  the 
prince.  It  was  a  sort  of  melancholy  pleasure  to  him  to  make 
fair  copies  of  these  two  papers,  and  send  them  to  the 
duchess. 

His  brain  was  full  of  conjectures.  He  strove  to  guess  at 
the  future  line  of  conduct  of  the  woman  he  loved.  "  She 
knows  nothing  about  it  herself,"  he  thought.  "  Only  one 
thing  is  certain — that  nothing  in  the  world  would  induce  her 
to  relinquish  the  decisions  she  has  once  expressed."  His 
misery  was  increased  by  the  fact  that  he  could  not  contrive 
to  see  that  the  duchess  was  in  the  wrong.  "  She  conferred  a 
favour  on  me  when  she  loved  me.  She  loves  me  no  longer 
because  of  a  fault,  involuntary,  indeed,  but  which  may  have 
horrible  consequences.  I  have  no  right  to  complain."  The 
next  morning  the  count  heard  the  duchess  had  begun  to 
go  into  society  again.  She  had  appeared  the  night  before 
in  all  the  houses  that  had  been  open  to  guests.  What  would 
have  become  of  him  if  he  had  met  her  in  the  same  draw- 
ing-room? How  was  he  to  speak  to  her?  The  following 
day  was  terribly  gloomy.  The  general  report  was  that  Fa- 
brizio  was  to  be  put  to  death;  the  whole  town  was  stirred. 
It  was  added  that  the  prince,  out  of  regard  to  his  high 
birth,  had  condescended  to  give  orders  that  his  head  should 
be  cut  off. 

"  It  is  I  who  will  have  killed  him,"  thought  the  count. 
"  I  can  never  expect  to  see  the  duchess  again."  In  spite  of 
this  somewhat  simple  reasoning,  he  could  not  refrain  from 
calling  at  her  house  three  times  over.  It  must  be  said  that 
he  went  on  foot  so  as  to  avoid  comment.  In  his  despair  he 
even  dared  to  write  to  her.  He  had  sent  twice  for  Rassi, 
but  the  chief  justice  had  not  appeared.  "  The  rascal  is  play- 
ing me  false,"  said  the  count  to  himself. 

The  next  morning  three  great  pieces  of  news  stirred  the 
upper  ranks,  and  even  the  middle  classes,  of  Parma.  Fa- 
brizio's  execution  was  more  than  ever  certain,  and  a  very 
curious  thing  in  connection  with  this  information  was  that 
the  duchess  did  not  seem  overmuch  distressed  about  her 

314 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

young  lover.  At  all  events  she  took  admirable  advantage 
of  the  pallor  resulting  from  a  somewhat  serious  indisposi- 
tion, from  which  she  had  suffered  just  at  the  moment  of 
Fabrizio's  arrest.  In  these  details  the  middle  classes  were 
sure  they  recognised  the  dried-up  heart  of  a  great  court 
lady.  Yet,  out  of  decency,  or  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  memory 
of  young  Fabrizio,  she  had  broken  with  Count  Mosca. 
"  What  immorality ! "  exclaimed  the  Jansenists  of  Parma. 
But  already  the  duchess  (and  this  was  incredible)  seemed  in- 
clined to  listen  to  the  addresses  of  the  handsomest  young  men 
about  the  court.  Among  other  symptoms  it  was  remarked 
that  she  had  held  a  very  merry  conversation  with  Count  Bal- 
di,  the  Raversi's  lover,  and  had  rallied  him  greatly  on  his  con- 
stant expeditions  to  Velleia.  The  lower  middle  class  and  the 
populace  were  furious  about  Fabrizio's  death,  which  the 
worthy  folk  ascribed  to  Count  Mosca's  jealousy.  Court 
society  also  devoted  a  great  deal  of  attention  to  the  count, 
but  only  to  mock  at  him.  The  third  of  the  great  pieces  of 
intelligence  to  which  we  have  referred  was  no  other,  indeed, 
than  the  count's  resignation.  Everybody  laughed  at  this 
absurd  lover  of  fifty-six,  who  was  sacrificing  a  magnificent 
position  to  the  grief  of  seeing  himself  forsaken  by  a  heart- 
less woman,  who,  for  a  considerable  time,  had  preferred  a 
younger  man  to  himself.  The  archbishop  was  the  only 
man  whose  intelligence — or  shall  we  say  his  heart? — en- 
abled him  to  g^ess  that  the  count's  honour  forbade  him  to 
continue  Prime  Minister  in  a  country  the  ruler  of  which 
was  about  to  behead  a  young  man  who  had  been  his  protege, 
without  even  consulting  him.  The  news  of  the  count's 
resignation  cured  General  Fabio  Conti's  gout,  as  we  shall 
duly  relate,  when  we  speak  of  the  manner  in  which  Fabrizio 
was  spending  his  time  in  the  citadel,  while  all  the  town  was 
expecting  to  hear  the  hour  fixed  for  his  execution. 

The  following  day  the  count  saw  Bruno,  the  trusty 
agent  whom  he  had  sent  to  Bologna.  The  count  was  greatly 
moved  when  the  man  entered  his  study.  The  sight  of  him 
brought  back  the  memory  of  his  own  happiness,  the  day 
he  had  despatched  him  to  Bologna  at  the  request  of  the 
duchess.    Brimo  had  just  arrived  from  Bologna,  where  he 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

had  found  out  nothing  at  all.  He  had  not  been  able  to  dis- 
cover Ludovico,  whom  the  podesta  of  Castelnovo  had  de- 
tained in  the  prison  of  his  village. 

"  I  shall  send  you  back  to  Bologna,"  said  the  count  to 
Bruno.  "  The  duchess  will  value  the  sad  pleasure  of  know- 
ing every  detail  of  Fabrizio's  misfortune.  Apply  to  the 
officer  commanding  the  gendarmes  at  Castelnovo " 

"  But,  no ! "  cried  the  count,  breaking  off  suddenly. 
"  You  shall  start  instantly  for  Lombardy,  and  there  you  shall 
distribute  money,  and  plenty  of  it,  to  all  our  correspondents. 
My  object  is  to  have  reports  of  the  most  encouraging  na- 
ture sent  in  by  all  those  people." 

Bruno,  having  thoroughly  realized  the  object  of  his 
mission,  set  to  work  to  write  out  his  letters  of  credit.  The 
count,  just  as  he  was  giving  him  his  last  instructions,  re- 
ceived a  thoroughly  deceitful  letter,  but  admirably  expressed. 
It  might  have  been  taken  for  a  missive  from  one  friend,  ask- 
ing another  to  do  him  a  service.  The  friend  who  wrote  this 
letter  was  none  other  than  the  prince.  He  had  heard  some 
talk  of  resignation,  and  besought  his  friend  Count  Mosca 
to  continue  at  his  post.  He  begged  him  to  do  this  in  the 
name  of  friendship,  and  the  dangers  threatening  the  country, 
and  as  his  master,  he  commanded  him.  He  added  that  the 
King  of  *  *  *  had  just  placed  two  ribbons  of  his  Order 
at  his  disposal;  he  was  keeping  one  for  himself,  and  sent 
the  other  to  his  dear  friend  Count  Mosca. 

"  This  creature  is  my  curse !  "  exclaimed  the  count  in  his 
fury,  and  to  Bruno's  amazement.  "  He  thinks  he  can  take 
me  in  with  the  very  same  hypocritical  phrases  we  have  so 
often  strung  together  to  catch  some  fool."  He  declined 
the  proffered  Order,  and  in  his  reply,  wrote  that  the  state 
of  his  health  left  him  very  little  hope  of  being  able  to  per- 
form the  arduous  duties  of  his  ministry  much  longer.  The 
count  was  frantic.  A  moment  afterward.  Chief- Justice  Rassi 
was  announced;  he  treated  him  like  a  negro  slave. 

"  How  now !  Because  I  have  made  you  a  noble,  you 
grow  insolent.  Why  did  you  not  come  yesterday  to  thank 
me,  as  was  your  merest  duty.  Sir  Rascal  ?  " 

Rassi  was  far  above  such  abuse.    The  prince's  behaviour 

316 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  him,  every  day,  was  the  same  as  that.  But  he  wanted  to 
be  a  baron,  and  he  justified  himself  skilfully — nothing  was 
easier. 

"  The  prince  kept  me  nailed  to  a  writing-table  the  whole 
of  yesterday;  I  never  could  get  out  of  the  palace.  His 
Highness  set  me  to  copy  a  whole  heap  of  diplomatic  docu- 
ments in  my  crabbed  lawyer's  writing.  So  silly  were  they, 
and  so  prolix,  that  I  really  believe  his  sole  object  was  to 
keep  me  prisoner.  When  I  was  dismissed  at  last,  half- 
starved,  at  five  o'clock,  he  ordered  me  to  go  straight  home, 
and  not  to  go  out  again  the  whole  evening.  And  as  a  matter 
of  fact  I  saw  one  of  his  private  spies,  whom  I  know  well, 
walking  up  and  down  my  street  till  midnight.  This  morn- 
ing, the  moment  I  could,  I  sent  for  a  carriage,  in  which  I 
drove  to  the  door  of  the  cathedral.  I  got  out  of  the  car- 
riage very  slowly,  and  then  I  walked  quickly  across  the 
church,  and  here  I  am.  At  this  moment  your  Excellency  is 
the  one  man  in  the  world  I  most  passionately  desire  to 
please." 

"  And  I,  you  rogue,  am  not  in  the  least  taken  in  by 
any  of  your  more  or  less  well-concocted  stories.  Yesterday 
you  refused  to  talk  to  me  about  Fabrizio ;  I  respected  your 
scruples  and  your  oaths  of  secrecy — ^though  to  such  as  you, 
oaths  are  no  more,  at  the  outside,  than  useful  pretexts.  To- 
day I  will  have  the  truth.  What  are  these  absurd  stories 
according  to  which  this  youth  has  been  condemned  to  death 
for  the  murder  of  the  man  Giletti  ?  " 

"  No  one  can  inform  your  Excellency  concerning  these 
reports  better  than  I,  seeing  it  is  I  myself  who  have  put  them 
about,  according  to  the  sovereign's  orders.  And  now  I 
come  to  think  oi  it,  it  was  perhaps  to  prevent  me  from  tell- 
ing you  of  this  incident  that  the  prince  kept  me  a  prisoner 
yesterday.  The  prince,  who  does  not  think  me  a  madman, 
could  not  but  be  sure  I  would  bring  you  my  cross,  and  beg 
you  to  fasten  it  to  my  buttonhole." 

"  Come  down  to  facts,"  exclaimed  the  minister,  "  and 
make  me  no  speeches." 

"  No  doubt  the  prince  would  be  very  glad  to  have  young 
Del  Dongo  sentenced  to  death.    But,  as  you  doubtless  know, 

317 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

all  he  has  to  go  upon  is  a  sentence  to  twenty  years  in  chains, 
which  he  himself  commuted,  the  very  day  after  it  was  pro- 
nounced, to  twelve  years  in  the  fortress,  with  fasting  on 
bread  and  water  every  Friday,  and  certain  other  religious 
observances." 

"  It  is  just  because  I  knew  the  sentence  was  only  one  of 
imprisonment  that  the  reports  of  his  approaching  execution 
current  all  over  the  town  alarmed  me.  I  remembered  Count 
Palanza's  death,  which  you  juggled  so  cleverly." 

"  That's  when  I  ought  to  have  had  the  cross,"  exclaimed 
Rassi,  not  the  least  disconcerted.  "  I  ought  to  have  put 
on  the  screw  while  I  held  it  in  my  hand,  and  the  man  was 
anxious  for  the  count's  death.  I  behaved  like  a  simpleton 
then,  and  that  experience  emboldens  me  to  advise  you  not 
to  do  likewise  now."  This  comparison  appeared  most  offen- 
sive to  the  count,  who  had  much  ado  to  restrain  himself 
from  kicking  Rassi. 

"  First  of  all,"  the  latter  proceeded,  with  all  the  logic  of  a 
juris-consult,  and  all  the  perfect  assurance  of  a  man  whom  no 
insult  can  offend,  "  first  of  all,  there  can  be  no  execution 
of  the  said  Del  Dongo ;  the  prince  would  not  venture  on  it ; 
times  are  very  much  changed.  And  then  I,  who  am  now 
a  nobleman,  and  hope  through  you  to  become  a  baron,  I 
would  not  put  my  hand  to  it.  Now  it  is  only  from  me,  as 
your  Excellency  knows,  that  the  chief  executioner  can  get 
his  orders,  and  I  swear  to  you  that  the  Cavaliere  Rassi  will 
never  give  an  order  to  hurt  Signor  del  Dongo." 

"  And  you  will  do  well,"  said  the  count,  looking  him 
over  sternly. 

"  Let  there  be  no  confusion,"  replied  Rassi  with  a  smile. 
"  My  concern  is  only  with  an  official  demise,  and  if  Mon- 
signore  del  Dongo  should  die  of  a  colic  you  must  not 
ascribe  that  to  me.  The  prince  is  mad — why,  I  know  not — 
against  the  Sanseverina  "  (only  three  days  previously  Rassi 
would  have  said  "  the  duchess,"  but,  like  everybody  else  in 
the  city,  he  was  aware  of  her  rupture  with  the  Prime  Min- 
ister). The  count  was  struck  by  the  suppression  of  the 
title  in  such  a  mouth,  and  my  readers  may  conceive  the 
pleasure  he  felt !    He  flashed  a  look  of  the  bitterest  hatred 

318 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

at  Rassi.  "  My  dearest  angel,"  said  he  in  his  heart,  "  the 
only  way  I  can  prove  my  love,  is  by  blindly  obeying  your 
command !  " 

"  I  will  confess  to  you,"  said  he  to  the  lawyer,  "  that 
I  take  no  very  passionate  interest  in  the  duchess's  various 
whims.  Nevertheless,  as  it  was  she  who  introduced  that 
good-for-nothing  young  Fabrizio  to  me — he  would  have 
done  far  better  to  have  stayed  at  Naples,  and  never  to 
have  come  here  to  throw  all  our  affairs  into  confusion. 
— I  am  anxious  he  should  not  be  put  to  death  in  my  time, 
and  I  am  ready  to  give  you  my  word  that  you  shall  be 
a  baron  within  a  week  of  the  time  when  he  gets  out  of 
prison." 

"  In  that  case,  count,  I  shall  not  be  a  baron  till  twelve 
years  are  out,  for  the  prince  is  furious,  and  his  hatred  for 
the  duchess  is  so  intense  that  he  endeavours  to  hide  it." 

"  His  Highness  is  more  than  good.  What  need  has  he 
to  conceal  his  hatred,  since  his  Prime  Minister  no  longer 
extends  his  protection  to  the  duchess  ?  Only  I  will  not  give 
any  one  the  chance  of  accusing  me  of  meanness,  or,  above 
all,  of  jealousy.  It  was  I  who  brought  the  duchess  to  this 
country,  and  if  Fabrizio  dies  in  prison,  you  will  certainly  not 
be  a  baron,  but  you  may  possibly  be  stabbed.  But  enough 
of  this  trifling.  I  have  reckoned  up  my  fortune ;  I  find  I 
have  barely  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  I  now  pro- 
pose humbly  to  send  in  my  resignation  to  the  sovereign.  I 
have  some  hope  of  being  employed  by  the  King  of  Naples. 
That  g^eat  city  will  offer  me  recreations  which  I  need  just 
now,  and  which  are  not  to  be  found  in  a  hole  like  Parma. 
The  only  thing  that  would  induce  me  to  remain  would  be 
if  I  were  g^ven  the  hand  of  Princess  Isota,"  etc.,  and  the 
conversation  ran  endlessly  on  this  subject.  When  Rassi 
rose  to  go,  the  count  said  to  him,  with  a  very  careless  air : 
"  You  know  it  has  been  said  that  Fabrizio  deceived  me,  in 
the  sense  that  he  had  been  one  of  the  duchess's  lovers.  I  do 
not  admit  the  truth  of  this  report.  As  a  contradiction  of  it, 
I  wish  you  to  hand  this  purse  to  Fabrizio." 

"  But,  count,"  said  Rassi  in  alarm,  looking  into  the 
purse,  "  there  is  a  huge  sum  here,  and  the  regulations " 

319 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  To  you,  my  good  fellow,  it  may  seem  huge,"  replied 
the  count,  with  an  air  of  royal  scorn.  "  When  a  man  of  your 
class  sends  ten  sequins  to  a  friend  in  prison  he  thinks  he  has 
ruined  himself.  Now,  I  choose  that  Fabrizio  shall  have 
these  six  thousand  francs,  and  especially  I  choose  that  no- 
body at  the  palace  shall  know  anything  about  it." 

When  the  startled  Rassi  would  have  replied,  the  count 
slammed  the  door  impatiently  behind  him.  "  Such  men 
as  he,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  never  recognise  power  unless 
they  see  insolence."  This  over,  the  mighty  minister  in- 
dulged in  a  performance  so  absurd  that  we  hardly  know  how 
to  relate  it.  Hurrying  over  to  his  writing-table,  he  took 
out  a  miniature  of  the  duchess,  and  covered  it  with  passion- 
ate kisses.  "  Forgive  me,  dearest  angel,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  for  not  having  thrown  the  rascal  who  ventured  to  speak 
of  you  with  a  tinge  of  familiarity  out  of  the  window  with 
my  own  hands.  But  if  I  show  this  excessive  patience  it  is 
only  out  of  obedience  to  your  will,  and  he  will  lose  nothing 
by  my  delay." 

After  a  long  conversation  with  the  portrait,  the  count, 
who  felt  his  heart  dead  within  his  breast,  was  struck  with 
an  absurd  idea,  and  proceeded,  with  childish  eagerness,  to 
put  it  into  action.  He  sent  for  a  dress-coat  and  decora- 
tions, and  betook  himself  to  wait  upon  the  elderly  Princess 
Isota.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  done  such  a  thing,  except 
on  New  Year's  Day.  He  found  her  surrounded  by  a  num- 
ber of  pet  dogs,  dressed  up  in  her  fine  clothes,  and  even 
adorned  with  her  diamonds,  as  if  she  had  been  going  to 
court.  When  the  count  expressed  some  fear  that  he  was 
disturbing  her  Highness's  plans,  as  she  was  probably  think- 
ing of  going  out,  her  Highness  responded  that  a  Princess 
of  Parma  owed  it  to  herself  to  be  always  in  full  dress.  For 
the  first  time  since  his  misfortune  had  occurred,  the  count 
felt  a  touch  of  amusement.  "  I  did  well  to  come  here," 
thought  he  to  himself,  "  and  I  will  avow  my  passion  this 
very  day."  The  princess  had  been  delighted  at  the  visit  of 
a  man  who  was  so  famous  for  his  wit,  and  Prime  Minister  to 
boot.  The  poor  old  lady  was  not  accustomed  to  attentions 
of  that  kind.    The  count  opened  with  a  skilful  speech  about 

320 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  immense  distance  which  must  always  part  a  mere  noble- 
man from  the  members  of  a  reigning  family. 

"  Some  distinction  should  be  made,"  said  the  princess. 
"  The  daughter  of  a  King  of  France,  for  instance,  never  has 
any  hope  of  succeeding  to  the  throne.  But  this  is  not  the 
case  with  the  Parma  family.  That  is  the  reason  why  we  of 
the  Farnese  race  must  always  keep  up  a  certain  external 
dignity.  Even  I,  poor  princess  as  I  am,  can  not  say  it  is 
absolutely  impossible  that  you  may  one  day  be  my  Prime 
Minister." 

The  whimsical  unexpectedness  of  this  remark  made  the 
poor  count  feel  quite  cheerful  again,  for  an  instant.  As  the 
minister  emerged  from  Princess  Isota's  apartment  (she  had 
blushed  furiously  when  he  had  confessed  his  passion  for 
her),  he  met  one  of  the  quartermasters  from  the  palace.  The 
prince  had  sent  for  him  in  a  great  hurry. 

"  I  am  ill,"  replied  the  minister,  delighted  to  have  the 
chance  of  being  rude  to  the  prince.  "  Ha,  ha !  "  he  cried,  in 
a  rage.  "  You  drive  me  distracted,  and  then  you  expect 
me  to  serve  you!  But  you  shall  learn,  my  prince,  that  in 
this  century,  the  mere  fact  of  having  received  your  author- 
ity from  Providence  does  not  suffice  you.  You  must  have 
great  powers  of  mind,  and  a  noble  character,  if  you  want  to 
be  a  successful  despot." 

Having  dismissed  the  quartermaster,  who  was  highly 
scandalized  by  the  sick  man's  appearance  of  perfect  health, 
the  count  was  pleased  to  call  on  the  two  men  about  the  court 
who  had  most  influence  with  Fabio  Conti.  What  made  the 
minister  shudder,  and  shook  all  his  confidence,  was  that  the 
governor  of  the  citadel  was  supposed  to  have  got  rid  of  a 
certain  captain,  who  had  been  his  personal  enemy,  by  means 
of  the  "  Acquetta  di  Perugia." 

For  a  week,  the  count  was  aware,  the  duchess  had  been 
spending  immense  sums  of  money  to  get  into  communica- 
tion with  the  citadel.  But  he  did  not  think  her  likely  to 
attain  success.  Everybody  was  too  much  on  the  alert  as 
yet.  We  will  not  weary  our  readers  with  all  the  distracted 
woman's  attempts  at  bribery.  She  was  in  despair,  and  her 
efforts  were  seconded  by  agents  of  every  kind,  and  the  most 

321 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

absolute  devotion.  But  there  is  just  one  kind  of  business 
that  is  thoroughly  well  done  in  a  small  despotic  court,  and 
that  is  the  watch  kept  over  political  prisoners.  The  only 
result  produced  by  the  money  the  duchess  laid  out  was  that 
eight  or  ten  men  of  every  rank  were  dismissed  from  the 
citadel  service. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Thus,  in  spite  of  their  absolute  devotion  to  the  pris- 
oner's interests,  neither  the  duchess  nor  the  Prime  Minister 
had  been  able  to  do  more  than  a  very  little  for  him.  The 
prince  was  furious  with  Fabrizio ;  and  both  the  court  and 
the  public  had  a  grudge  against  him,  and  were  delighted  to 
see  him  in  trouble — his  luck  had  been  too  remarkable. 
The  duchess,  though  she  had  scattered  money  broadcast, 
had  not  been  able  to  advance  one  step  in  her  siege  of  the 
citadel.  Never  a  day  passed  but  that  the  Marchesa  Raversi 
or  Cavaliere  Riscara  found  some  fresh  word  to  drop  into 
General  Conti's  ear.    Thus  they  strengthened  his  weakness. 

As  we  have  already  said,  Fabrizio,  on  the  day  of  his 
imprisonment,  was  conducted,  in  the  first  place,  to  the  gov- 
ernor's palace.  This  is  a  pretty  little  building  erected  during 
the  last  century,  after  a  design  by  Vanvitelli,  who  placed  it 
at  an  elevation  of  a  hundred  and  eighty  feet,  on  the  plat- 
form of  the  huge  Round  Tower.  From  the  windows  of  this 
little  palace,  set  like  a  camel's  hump  on  the  back  of  the 
great  tower,  Fabrizio  looked  far  out  over  the  country,  and 
to  the  Alps  in  the  distance.  At  the  foot  of  the  citadel  he 
could  mark  the  course  of  the  Parma,  a  sort  of  torrent  which 
bends  to  the  right,  about  four  leagues  from  the  city,  and 
casts  itself  into  the  Po.  Beyond  the  left  bank  of  that  river, 
which  formed  a  succession  of  immense  white  stains  upon 
the  verdant  green  of  the  surrounding  country,  his  delighted 
eye  could  distinctly  recognise  the  peaks  of  the  mighty  wall 
of  the  Alps,  running  right  across  the  north  of  Italy.  These 
peaks,  which,  even  in  the  month  of  Augfust,  as  it  then  was, 
are  always  covered  with  snow,  cast  a  sort  of  memory  of 
coolness  across  the  blazing  country.    Every  detail  of  their 

323 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

outline  can  be  followed,  and  yet  they  are  more  than  thirty 
leagues  from  the  citadel  of  Parma. 

The  wide  view  from  the  governor's  charming  palace  is 
broken,  at  one  of  its  southern  corners,  by  the  Farnese 
Tower,  in  which  a  room  was  being  hastily  prepared  for 
Fabrizio.  This  second  tower  was  built,  as  my  readers  will 
perhaps  remember,  on  the  platform  of  the  great  tower,  in 
honour  of  a  certain  hereditary  prince,  who,  far  from  fol- 
lowing the  example  of  Hippolytus,  the  son  of  Theseus,  had 
turned  a  by  no  means  deaf  ear  to  the  blandishments  of  a 
youthful  stepmother.  The  princess  died  within  a  few 
hours ;  the  son  of  the  prince  only  regained  his  liberty  some 
seventeen  years  later,  when  he  ascended  the  throne  after 
his  father's  death.  This  Farnese  Tower,  to  which  Fabrizio 
was  conducted  after  waiting  some  three-quarters  of  an  hour, 
is  externally  a  very  ugly  building,  rising  some  fifty  feet 
above  the  platform  of  the  great  tower,  and  adorned  with  a 
number  of  lightning  conductors. 

The  prince,  who  had  reason  to  be  displeased  with  his 
wife,  and  who  had  caused  the  prison,  which  was  visible  from 
every  quarter,  to  be  constructed,  conceived  the  strange  no- 
tion of  persuading  his  subjects  that  it  had  already  been  in 
existence  for  many  years,  and  for  this  reason  he  dubbed  it 
the  Farnese  Tower.  Any  reference  to  the  progress  of  the 
building  was  forbidden;  yet,  from  every  corner  of  the  city 
of  Parma,  and  of  the  plains  around  it,  the  masons  might  be 
seen  laying  every  stone  that  went  to  the  composition  of  the 
pentagonal  edifice.  To  prove  its  ancient  origin  a  mag- 
nificent bas-relief,  representing  Alessandro  Farnese,  the  fa- 
mous general,  forcing  Henry  IV  to  retire  from  Paris,  was 
placed  above  the  doorway,  two  feet  wide  and  four  high, 
which  formed  the  entrance  to  the  building.  The  Farnese 
Tower,  standing  in  this  prominent  position,  consists  of  a 
ground  floor  apartment,  at  least  forty  paces  long,  broad  in 
proportion,  and  full  of  very  squat  pillars,  for  the  room, 
disproportionately  large  as  it  is,  is  not  more  than  fifteen 
feet  high.  This  is  used  as  the  guard-room,  and  in  the  middle 
of  it  the  staircase  runs  up  round  one  of  the  pillars — quite  a 
small,  open-work  iron  staircase,  very  light,  and  hardly  two 

324 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

feet  wide.  Up  this  staircase,  which  shook  under  the  weight 
of  the  jailers  who  guarded  him,  Fabrizio  was  led  into  some 
huge  rooms  more  than  twenty  feet  high,  which  formed  a 
magnificent  first  floor.  They  had  once  been  furnished  with 
the  utmost  splendour  for  the  young  prince  who  had  spent 
the  seventeen  best  years  of  his  life  in  then?.  At  one  end 
of  these  rooms  the  new  prisoner  was  shown  a  chapel  of 
the  greatest  magnificence — the  walls  and  vaulted  ceiling 
were  entirely  cased  with  black  marble;  the  pillars,  which 
were  also  black,  and  of  the  most  noble  proportions,  were 
set  in  rows  along  the  black  walls,  though  not  touching 
them ;  these  walls  were  adorned  with  a  number  of  skulls  of 
colossal  proportions,  beautifully  chiselled  in  white  marble, 
and  each  supported  by  two  crossed  bones.  "  That  was  cer- 
tainly invented  by  the  hatred  of  a  man  who  did  not  dare  to 
kill,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself.  "  What  a  devilish  notion  to 
show  it  to  me  I  " 

Another  very  light  open-work  iron  staircase,  also  wound 
round  a  pillar,  led  to  the  second  story  of  this  prison,  and 
it  was  in  these  second-story  rooms,  about  fifteen  feet  high, 
that  General  Fabio  Conti's  genius  had  been  displaying 
itself  for  the  past  year.  Under  his  directions,  to  begin  with, 
the  windows  of  the  rooms,  which  had  originally  been  occu- 
pied by  the  prince's  servants,  and  are  over  thirty  feet  above 
the  stone  flags  forming  the  roof  of  the  great  Round  Tower, 
were  all  securely  covered  with  gratings.  These  rooms,  each 
of  which  has  two  windows,  are  reached  by  a  dark  passage, 
running  through  the  centre  of  the  building,  and  across  this 
very  narrow  passage  Fabrizio  noticed  three  successive 
gates,  made  of  huge  iron  bars,  and  carried  right  up  into 
the  vaulted  ceiling.  The  plans,  sections,  and  elevations  of 
all  these  fine  inventions  had  secured  the  general  a  weekly 
audience  with  his  master  for  the  two  previous  years.  A 
conspirator  immured  in  one  of  these  dungeons  could  not 
well  appeal  to  public  opinion  on  the  score  of  inhuman  treat- 
ment, and  yet  he  was  precluded  from  holding  communica- 
tion with  any  one  on  earth,  or  from  making  the  smallest 
movement  without  being  overheard.  In  each  of  these  rooms 
the  general  had  placed  thick  oaken  planking,  which  formed 

325 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

something  like  benches,  three  feet  high;  and  here  came  in 
his  great  invention,  that  which  estabhshed  his  claim  to  be 
appointed  Minister  of  Police.  On  these  planks  he  had 
built  a  kind  of  wooden  shed,  ten  feet  high,  and  very  re- 
sounding, which  only  touched  the  wall  on  the  window  side 
of  the  room.  On  the  three  other  sides  a  narrow  passage, 
some  four  feet  wide,  ran  between  the  original  walls  of  the 
prison,  built  of  enormous  hewn  stones,  and  the  wooden  sides 
of  the  shed.  These  sides,  made  of  four  thicknesses  of  wal- 
nut wood,  oak,  and  deal,  were  strongly  bound  together  by 
iron  bolts,  and  innumerable  nails. 

It  was  into  one  of  these  rooms,  which  had  been  pre- 
pared a  year  previously,  was  considered  General  Fabio 
Conti's  masterpiece,  and  had  received  the  resounding  title  of 
"  Passive  Obedience,"  that  Fabrizio  was  conducted.  The 
view  out  of  the  barred  windows  was  sublime.  Only  one 
small  comer  of  the  horizon,  that  toward  the  northwest,  was 
concealed  by  the  balustraded  roof  of  the  governor's  pretty 
palace,  which  was  only  two  stories  high.  The  ground  floor 
was  occupied  by  the  officers  of  his  staff,  and  Fabrizio's  eye 
was  at  once  caught  by  one  of  the  upper-floor  windows, 
round  which  hung  a  great  number  of  pretty  cages,  contain- 
ing birds  of  every  kind.  While  the  jailers  were  moving 
about  around  him,  Fabrizio  entertained  himself  by  listening 
to  the  birds'  singing,  and  watching  their  farewells  to  the  last 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  This  aviary  window  was  not  more 
than  five-and-twenty  feet  from  one  of  his  own,  and  some 
five  or  six  feet  below  it,  so  that  he  looked  down  upon  the 
birds. 

There  was  a  moon  that  night,  and  just  as  Fabrizio  en- 
tered his  prison,  she  rose  in  majesty  over  the  horizon  on  the 
right,  from  behind  the  Alps  toward  Treviso.  It  was  only 
half  past  eight,  and  at  the  other  end  of  the  horizon,  where 
the  sun  had  just  set,  a  brilliant  red  light,  tinged  with  orange, 
lay  on  the  clear-cut  outlines  of  Monte  Viso,  and  the  other 
Alpine  peaks,  piled  one  above  the  other  from  Nice  toward 
the  Mont  Cenis  and  Turin.  Without  another  thought  for 
his  misfortunes,  Fabrizio  gave  himself  over  to  the  emotion 
and  delight  roused  by  this  splendid  sight.    "  This,  then,  is 

326 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  wonderful  world  in  which  Delia  Conti  lives.  To  her 
serious  and  pensive  soul  this  view  must  be  specially  de- 
lightful. One  feels  here  just  as  one  does  in  the  lonely 
mountains  a  hundred  leagues  from  Parma."  It  was  not  till 
he  had  spent  more  than  two  hours  at  his  window,  admiring 
the  view  which  appealed  so  strongly  to  his  heart,  and  cast- 
ing many  a  glance,  meanwhile,  at  the  governor's  pretty 
palace,  that  Fabrizio  suddenly  exclaimed :  "  But  is  this  a 
prison  ?  Is  this  what  I  have  dreaded  so  intensely  ?  "  Instead 
of  discovering  discomforts  and  causes  for  bitterness  at  every 
step,  our  hero  was  falling  in  love  with  the  delights  of  his 
dungeon. 

Suddenly  a  frightful  noise  roughly  recalled  his  attention 
to  the  realities  of  life.  His  wooden  room,  which  rather  re- 
sembled a  cage,  and  was  especially  remarkable  for  its 
resonant  qualities,  was  violently  shaken;  the  barking  of  a 
dog  and  a  number  of  little  shrill  squeaks  made  up  a  most 
extraordinary  pandemonium.  "  What  is  this  ?  Shall  I  be 
able  to  escape  so  soon  ? "  thought  Fabrizio.  A  moment 
afterward  he  was  laughing,  as  perhaps  no  prisoner  ever 
laughed  before.  By  the  general's  orders,  the  jailers  had 
brought  up  with  them  an  English  dog,  very  savage,  which 
had  been  told  off  to  keep  guard  over  the  more  important 
officers,  and  which  was  to  spend  the  night  in  the  space  so 
ingeniously  contrived  all  round  Fabrizio's  cage.  The  dog 
and  the  jailer  were  both  to  sleep  in  the  aperture,  three  feet 
deep,  between  the  flag-stones  of  the  original  flooring  of  the 
room  and  the  wooden  boards,  upon  which  the  prisoner  could 
not  take  a  step  without  being  heard. 

Now,  when  Fabrizio  entered  the  room  called  "  Passive 
Obedience,"  it  had  been  in  possession  of  about  a  hundred 
huge  rats,  who  had  taken  to  flight  in  all  directions.  The 
dog,  a  sort  of  cross  between  a  spaniel  and  an  English  fox- 
terrier,  was  not  good-looking,  but  was  exceedingly  sharp. 
It  had  been  fastened  to  the  flagged  pavement  below  the 
floor  of  the  wooden  room,  but  when  it  smelled  the  rats 
close  beside  it,  it  struggled  so  desperately  that  it  contrived 
to  slip  its  collar.  Then  began  the  mighty  battle,  the  noise 
of  which  had  disturbed  Fabrizio,  and  roused  him  out  of  his 

327 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

anything  but  unpleasant  dream.  The  rats,  which  had  been 
able  to  escape  the  first  onset,  took  refuge  in  the  wooden 
room,  and  the  dog  followed  them  up  the  six  steps  which  led 
from  the  stone  pavement  to  Fabrizio's  shed.  Then  a  far 
more  terrible  racket  began.  The  wooden  shell  was  shaken 
to  its  very  foundations.  Fabrizio  laughed  like  a  lunatic, 
till  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks ;  Grillo,  the  jailer,  who  was 
laughing  just  as  heartily,  had  shut  the  door.  The  dog  was 
not  the  least  incommoded  in  his  hunt  by  the  furniture,  for 
the  room  was  absolutely  bare;  the  only  thing  to  interfere 
with  his  bounds  upon  his  prey  was  an  iron  stove  standing 
in  one  corner.  When  the  dog  had  destroyed  all  his  enemies, 
Fabrizio  called  to  him,  patted  him,  and  succeeded  in  making 
friends  with  him.  "If  ever  this  fellow  should  see  me  jump- 
ing over  some  wall,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  he  will  not  bark  at 
me."  But  this  cunning  policy  was  a  mere  pretence  on  his 
part.  In  his  state  of  mind  at  that  moment,  it  was  a  delight 
to  him  to  play  with  the  dog.  By  a  strange  whimsicality,  on 
which  he  did  not  reflect,  there  was  a  sense  of  secret  joy  at 
the  bottom  of  his  heart. 

When  he  had  run  about  with  the  dog  till  he  was  out  of 
breath — 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  said  Fabrizio  to  the  jailer. 

"  Grillo,  at  your  Excellency's  service,  in  everything  that 
the  regulations  will  permit." 

"  Well,  my  good  Grillo,  a  fellow  of  the  name  of  Giletti 
tried  to  murder  me  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  I  defended 
my  life,  and  killed  him.  I  should  kill  him  again,  if  it  had 
to  be  done.  But  none  the  less  I  will  live  a  cheery  life  as 
long  as  I  am  your  gfuest.  Ask  leave  from  your  chiefs,  and 
then  go  fetch  me  some  linen  from  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina, 
and  bring  me  plenty  of  nebieu  d'Asti." 

This  is  a  fairly  good  effervescent  wine,  made  in  Pied- 
mont, in  the  country  of  Alfieri,  and  which  is  highly 
esteemed,  especially  by  that  class  to  which  jailers  generally 
belong.  Eight  or  ten  of  these  gentry  were  engaged  in 
moving  various  ancient  and  highly  gilt  pieces  of  furniture, 
taken  from  the  prince's  apartments  on  the  first  floor,  into 
Fabrizio's  wooden  room,  and  they  all  carefully  treasured  up 

328 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

their  prisoner's  remark  in  favour  of  Asti  wine.  In  spite  of 
all  their  efforts,  the  arrangements  for  Fabrizio's  first  night 
were  rather  pitiful;  but  the  only  thing  that  seemed  to  dis- 
tress him  was  the  absence  of  a  bottle  of  good  nebieu.  "  He 
seems  a  good  fellow,"  said  the  jailers  as  they  departed, 
"  and  we  must  only  hope  one  thing — that  our  chiefs  will 
let  his  friends  pass  money  in  to  him." 

When  he  was  left  alone,  and  had  settled  down  a  litCle 
after  all  the  noise,  "  Is  it  possible  that  this  can  be  a  prison  ?  " 
said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  as  he  looked  out  over  the  mighty 
horizon  stretching  from  Treviso  to  the  Monte  Viso,  the 
huge  chain  of  the  Alps,  the  snow-covered  peaks,  and  the 
stars  above  them,  "  And  this  my  first  night  in  a  prison, 
too!  I  can  imagine  that  Clelia  Conti  must  delight  in  this 
aerial  solitude.  Here  we  are  a  thousand  leagues  above  the 
meannesses  and  wickednesses  which  make  up  our  life  down 
there.  If  those  birds  there,  under  my  window,  belong  to 
her,  I  shall  see  her.  .  .  .  Will  she  blush  when  she  sees  me  ?  " 
When  slumber  overtook  him,  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morn- 
ing, the  prisoner  was  still  debating  this  great  question. 

On  the  very  morning  after  that  first  night  in  prison, 
during  which  Fabrizio  had  not  once  felt  impatient,  he  was 
reduced  to  holding  conversations  with  Fox,  the  English 
dog.  Grillo,  the  jailer,  still  looked  at  him  with  the  most 
kindly  eyes,  but  a  newly  issued  order  had  sealed  his  lips,  and 
he  brought  his  prisoner  neither  linen  nor  nebieu. 

"  Shall  I  see  Clelia  ? "  thought  Fabrizio  as  he  woke. 
"  But  do  those  birds  really  belong  to  her  ?  "  The  birds  in 
question  were  beginning  to  chirp  and  sing,  and  at  that 
height,  theirs  was  the  only  noise  that  fell  upon  the  air.  The 
deep  silence  which  reigned  at  that  altitude  was  a  most  novel 
and  pleasurable  sensation  to  Fabrizio.  He  listened  with 
delight  to  the  little  fitful,  lively  warbling  with  which  his 
neighbours  the  birds  greeted  the  sun.  "  If  they  are  hers, 
she  will  come  for  an  instant  into  that  room  under  my  win- 
dow." And  while  he  watched  the  huge  ranges  of  the  Alps, 
against  the  nearer  tier  of  which  the  citadel  of  Parma  seemed 
to  project  like  an  outwork,  his  eyes  came  back  perpetually 
to  the  splendid  satin-wood  and  mahogany  cages,  with  their 

329 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

gilded  wires,  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  bright  room 
which  had  been  transformed  into  an  aviary.  It  was  not  till 
later  that  Fabrizio  found  out  that  this  room  was  the  only 
one  on  the  second  floor  of  the  palace  which  had  any  shade 
between  eleven  o'clock  and  four;  it  was  screened  by  the 
Farnese  Tower. 

"  What  will  my  grief  be,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  if, 
instead  of  that  modest  and  thoughtful  face  which  I  expect, 
and  which,  perhaps,  will  blush  a  little  at  the  sight  of  me,  I 
behold  the  coarse  countenance  of  some  vulgar  waiting- 
maid,  who  has  been  sent  to  supply  the  birds'  necessities? 
But  if  I  do  see  Clelia,  will  she  condescend  to  notice  me? 
Faith,  I  must  risk  some  indiscretion,  so  as  to  attract  her 
attention.  Some  privileges  must  surely  be  allowed  to  a 
man  in  my  position.  -And  besides,  we  two  are  alone  here, 
and  far  away  from  all  the  world.  I  am  a  prisoner,  and 
what  General  Conti  and  wretches  of  his  kind  probably  re- 
gard as  their  inferior,  .  .  .  but  she  has  so  much  cleverness, 
or  rather  so  much  heart,  as  the  count  believes,  that  per- 
haps, even  as  he  says,  she  despises  her  father's  trade.  That 
would  account  for  her  melancholy.  A  noble  reason,  truly, 
for  her  sadness.  But,  after  all,  I  am  not  a  complete  stranger 
to  her.  .  .  .  What  modest  grace  there  was  in  her  greeting 
to  me  yesterday  evening !  I  remember  very  well  that  when 
I  met  her  near  Como  I  said  to  her,  '  Some  day  I  shall 
go  to  see  your  beautiful  pictures  at  Parma.  Will  you  then 
remember  this  name — Fabrizio  del  Dongo  ?  '  Has  she  for- 
gotten it  ?     She  was  so  young ! 

"  But  now  I  think  of  it,"  said  Fabrizio  in  astonishment, 
and  breaking  off  the  thread  of  his  thoughts,  "  I  am  forget- 
ting to  be  angry !  Can  it  be  that  I  possess  a  mighty  courage, 
like  that  of  which  the  ancients  gave  a  few  instances  to  the 
world  ?  Am  I  a  hero,  with  no  suspicion  of  the  fact  ?  What ! 
I,  who  dreaded  prison  so  bitterly,  here  am  I  in  a  dungeon, 
and  I  can  not  remember  to  be  sad !  How  true  it  is  that  the 
dread  of  the  evil  is  a  hundred  times  worse  than  the  evil 
itself !  How  is  this  ?  Must  I  argue  myself  into  g^ief  at  find- 
ing myself  in  this  prison,  which,  so  Blanes  said,  may  as  likely 
last  ten  years  as  ten  months?    Can  it  be  the  strangeness  of 

330 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

my  new  surroundings  which  diminishes  the  distress  I  ought 
to  feel?  Perhaps  this  unreasoning  cheerfulness,  which  is 
quite  independent  of  my  own  will,  will  come  to  a  sudden 
end?  Perhaps  in  another  instant  I  shall  fall  into  the  black 
gloom  which  ought  to  overwhelm  me  ? 

"  In  any  case,  it  is  a  very  astonishing  thing  that  I  should 
be  in  prison,  and  that  I  should  have  to  argue  with  myself 
before  I  can  feel  sad.  Upon  my  word,  I  come  back  to  my 
old  inference  ;  perhaps  I  am  a  great  man,  after  all !  " 

Fabrizio's  musings  were  broken  by  the  arrival  of  the  car- 
penter of  the  fortress,  who  came  to  take  measurements  for 
a  screen  for  his  windows.  This  was  the  first  occasion  on 
which  this  room  had  been  occupied  as  a  prison,  and  its  com- 
pletion in  this  essential  particular  had  been  overlooked. 

"  Then,"  said  Fabrizio,  "  I  shall  be  deprived  of  that 
splendid  view  ?  "  and  he  tried  to  feel  sad  over  the  loss.  "  But 
what,"  he  cried  suddenly,  speaking  to  the  carpenter,  "  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  see  those  pretty  birds !  " 

"  Ah,  the  signorina's  birds,  that  she's  so  fond  of,"  said 
the  man,  a  kind-looking  fellow.  **  They  will  be  hidden, 
blocked  out,  swallowed  up,  like  all  the  rest." 

Talking  was  as  strictly  forbidden  to  the  carpenter  as  to 
the  jailer,  but  this  man  pitied  the  prisoner's  youth.  He 
told  him  that  the  huge  screens,  which  were  to  rest  on  the 
sills  of  the  two  windows,  and  run  outward  from  the  walls 
in  proportion  to  their  height,  were  to  prevent  the  prisoners 
from  seeing  anything  but  the  sky.  "  It  is  done,"  he  added, 
"  with  the  view  of  impressing  their  minds,  so  as  to  increase 
a  salutary  feeling  of  sadness,  and  fill  the  prisoners'  souls 
with  a  desire  to  amend  their  ways.  Another  invention  of  the 
general's,"  added  the  carpenter,  "  is  to  take  out  the  window- 
glass  and  replace  it  with  sheets  of  oiled  paper." 

Fabrizio  was  much  taken  with  the  epigrammatic  tone  of 
this  conversation,  seldom  met  with  in  Italy. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  have  a  bird  to  cheer  me, 
I  am  so  fond  of  them.  Buy  me  one  from  the  Signorina  Clelia 
Conti's  maid." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  carpenter ;  "  you  must  know 
her,  if  you  tell  her  name  so  plainly." 

331 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Who  is  there  that  has  not  heard  of  that  famous  beauty  ? 
But  I  have  had  the  honour  of  meeting  her  several  times  at 
court." 

"  The  poor  young  lady  has  a  very  dull  life  here,"  con- 
tinued the  carpenter.  "  She  spends  her  whole  time  over 
there  with  her  birds.  This  morning  she  has  had  some  fine 
orange  trees  bought,  and  has  ordered  them  to  be  placed  at 
the  door  of  the  tower,  just  under  your  window.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  cornice  you  would  be  able  to  see  them."  Certain 
words  in  this  reply  had  been  very  precious  to  Fabrizio ;  he 
devised  some  friendly  pretext  for  bestowing  a  gift  of  money 
upon  the  carpenter. 

"  I  am  doing  wrong  twice  over,"  said  the  man.  "  I  am 
talking  to  your  Excellency,  and  taking  your  money.  When 
I  come  back  the  day  after  to-morrow,  about  these  screens, 
I  will  have  a  bird  in  my  pocket,  and  if  I  am  not  alone,  I 
will  pretend  to  let  it  escape.  And,  if  I  can  manage  it,  I  will 
bring  you  a  prayer-book.  It  must  be  very  painful  to  you 
not  to  be  able  to  say  your  prayers." 

"  So,"  said  Fabrizio,  as  soon  as  he  was  alone,  "  those  are 
her  birds !  But  after  another  two  days  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
see  them." 

The  thought  brought  a  tinge  of  sadness  to  his  face.  But 
near  midday,  at  last,  to  his  inexpressible  delight,  after  long 
waiting  and  much  watching,  Clelia  came  to  attend  to  her 
birds.  Fabrizio,  motionless  and  almost  breathless,  stood 
upright,  close  against  the  huge  bars  of  his  window.  He  re- 
marked that  she  did  not  raise  her  eyes  to  him,  but  there 
was  a  something  shy  about  her  movements,  as  though  she 
felt  she  was  being  looked  at.  Even  if  she  had  desired  it, 
the  poor  girl  could  not  have  forgotten  the  subtle  smile 
which  had  flickered  on  the  prisoner's  lips,  just  as  he  was 
being  led  out  of  the  guard-room  on  the  preceding  night. 

Though  according  to  all  appearances  she  was  keeping 
the  most  careful  watch  upon  her  actions,  she  reddened  visi- 
bly as  she  drew  near  the  window  of  the  aviary.  Fabrizio's 
first  impulse,  as  he  stood  close  against  his  iron  window  bars, 
was  to  indulge  in  the  childish  freak  of  rapping  a  little  on  the 
iron,  so  as  to  make  a  slight  noise.    But  the  very  idea  of  such 

332 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

a  lack  of  delicacy  disgusted  him.  "  It  would  serve  me  right 
if  she  sent  her  maid  to  look  after  her  birds  for  a  week  after- 
ward." This  tender  scruple  would  not  have  occurred  to  him 
at  Naples  or  at  Novara. 

He  watched  her  hungrily,  saying  to  himself :  "  She  will 
surely  not  go  away  without  condescending  to  glance  at  this 
poor  window,  and  yet  she  is  just  opposite  it."  But  as  she 
moved  from  the  back  of  the  room,  into  which,  thanks  to  the 
superior  height  of  his  position,  Fabrizio  could  clearly  see, 
Clelia  could  not  prevent  herself  from  glancing  up  at  him  as 
she  walked,  and  this  was  sufficient  to  make  Fabrizio  ven- 
ture to  salute  her.  "  Are  we  not  alone  in  the  world  here  ?  " 
said  he,  to  give  himself  courage.  When  he  saluted  her  the 
young  girl  stopped  short  and  dropped  her  eyes.  Then  Fa- 
brizio saw  her  raise  them  again,  very  slowly  and  with  an 
evident  effort,  and  she  greeted  the  prisoner  with  the  gravest 
and  most  distant  gesture.  But  she  could  not  prevent  her 
eyes  from  speaking.  Without  her  knowledge,  probably, 
they  held,  for  one  instant,  an  expression  of  the  liveliest  pity. 
Fabrizio  noticed  she  was  colouring  so  deeply  that  the  rosy 
tinge  was  spreading  rapidly  even  on  to  her  shoulders,  from 
which  the  heat  had  caused  her  to  drop  a  black  lace  shawl, 
as  she  entered  the  aviary.  The  involuntary  glance  by  which 
Fabrizio  answered  her  salute  doubled  the  young  girl's  agita- 
tion. "  How  happy  that  poor  woman  would  be,"  said  she  to 
herself,  thinking  of  the  duchess,  "  if  she  could  only  see  him 
as  I  see  him,  just  for  one  moment ! " 

Fabrizio  had  nursed  a  tiny  hope  that  he  might  have  been 
able  to  send  her  another  greeting  ere  she  departed,  but  to 
avoid  this  fresh  attention,  Clelia  executed  a  skilful  retreat 
in  echelon  from  one  cage  to  another,  as  though  she  had 
necessarily  to  end  her  task  by  attending  to  the  birds  near- 
est to  the  door.  She  left  the  room  at  last,  and  Fabrizio  stood 
motionless,  gazing  at  the  door  through  which  she  had  just 
disappeared.    He  was  a  changed  man. 

From  that  instant  the  one  object  of  his  thoughts  was  to 
discover  how  he  might  continue  to  see  her,  even  after  that 
odious  screen  should  have  been  placed  over  the  window 
looking  on  to  the  governor's  palace. 

333 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Before  going  to  bed  on  the  previous  night,  he  had  per- 
formed the  tedious  and  tiresome  duty  of  conceaHng  most  of 
his  gold  coins  in  several  of  the  rat  holes  which  adorned  his 
wooden  room.  "  To-night,"  he  thought,  "  I  must  hide  my 
watch.  Have  I  not  heard  that  with  patience  and  the  jagged 
spring  of  a  watch,  a  man  may  cut  through  wood  and  even 
through  iron?  So  I  may  be  able  to  saw  through  the 
screen."  The  work  of  hiding  the  watch,  which  lasted  for 
several  hours,  did  not  seem  lengthy  to  him.  He  pondered 
over  the  various  methods  whereby  he  might  attain  his  end, 
and  his  own  knowledge  of  carpentering  matters.  "  If  I  set 
about  it  properly,"  he  mused,  "  I  can  simply  cut  out  a  com- 
partment of  the  oaken  board  of  which  the  screen  will  con- 
sist, at  the  place  where  it  will  rest  on  the  window-sill.  I  will 
take  this  bit  of  wood  in  and  out,  according  to  circumstances. 
I  will  give  everything  I  have  to  Grillo,  so  as  to  induce  him 
to  overlook  this  little  manoeuvre."  All  Fabrizio's  future 
happiness  seemed  to  depend  on  the  possibility  of  carrying 
out  this  undertaking,  and  he  thought  of  nothing  else.  "  If 
I  can  only  contrive  to  see  her,  I  am  happy.  .  .  .  But,  no," 
he  went  on,  "  she  must  see  that  I  see  her."  All  night  long 
his  head  was  full  of  carpentering  schemes,  and  in  all  proba- 
bility he  never  gave  a  thought  to  the  court  of  Parma,  the 
prince's  anger,  and  all  the  rest.  We  must  acknowledge,  too, 
that  he  did  not  trouble  himself  a  whit  concerning  the  dis- 
tress in  which  the  duchess  must  be  plunged.  He  waited 
eagerly  for  the  morning,  but  the  carpenter  did  not  reappear. 
He  was  apparently  considered  too  much  of  a  Liberal  by  the 
prison  authorities,  and  they  carefully  sent  another,  a  gruflf- 
looking  fellow,  who  deigned  no  answer  except  a  threatening 
grunt  to  all  the  pleasant  things  which  Fabrizio  was  inspired 
to  say  to  him.  Some  of  the  duchess's  endless  attempts  to 
enter  into  correspondence  with  Fabrizio  had  been  discov- 
ered by  the  marchesa's  numerous  agents,  and  General  Fabio 
Conti  received  daily  warnings  from  her,  which  both  startled 
him,  and  nettled  his  vanity.  Every  eight  hours  six  soldiers 
relieved  each  other  in  the  great  ground-floor  hall,  with  its 
hundred  pillars.  Besides  this,  the  governor  placed  a  jailer 
on  each  of  the  three  iron  gates  in  the  passage,  and  poor, 

334 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

unlucky  Grille,  the  only  person  who  saw  the  prisoner,  was 
forbidden  to  go  outside  the  Farnese  Tower  oftener  than 
once  a  week,  which  vexed  him  sorely.  He  made  Fabrizio 
conscious  of  his  ill-temper.  Fabrizio  had  wit  enough  to 
reply  with  these  words  only,  "  Plenty  of  nebieu  d'Asti,  my 
good  fellow,"  and  he  gave  him  some  money. 

"  Well,  even  this,  which  consoles  us  for  every  misfor- 
tune," exclaimed  the  angry  Grillo  in  a  voice  so  low  that  the 
prisoner  could  hardly  catch  it,  "  we  are  forbidden  to  accept, 
and  I  ought  to  refuse  it.  But  I  shall  take  it.  Yet,  indeed,  it 
is  money  wasted,  for  I  can  not  tell  you  anything  about  noth- 
ing. Why,  you  must  be  guilty  indeed!  The  whole  citadel 
is  upside  down  because  of  you,  and  the  duchess's  fine  tricks 
have  got  three  of  us  sent  away  already." 

"  Will  the  screen  be  ready  before  noon  ?  "  That  was  the 
great  question  which  made  Fabrizio's  heart  thump  all 
through  that  long  morning.  He  counted  up  every  quarter 
of  an  hour  as  it  rang  on  the  citadel  clock.  However,  when 
the  third  quarter  after  eleven  struck,  the  screen  had  not 
yet  arrived,  and  Clelia  reappeared  to  attend  to  her  birds. 
Cruel  necessity  had  so  emboldened  Fabrizio,  and  the  danger 
of  never  seeing  her  again  seemed  to  him  so  greatly  to  ex- 
ceed anything  else  in  the  whole  world,  that  he  dared,  as 
he  gazed  at  Clelia,  to  make  a  gesture  with  his  finger  as  of 
sawing  the  wooden  screen.  It  must  be  added  that  as  soon 
as  she  perceived  this  very  seditious  gesture  on  the  part  of 
the  prisoner,  she  made  him  a  sort  of  half  bow,  and  retired. 

"  Bless  me ! "  exclaimed  Fabrizio  in  astonishment. 
"  Can  she  have  been  so  unreasonable  as  to  take  a  sig^  dic- 
tated by  the  most  imperious  necessity  for  a  piece  of  ridicu- 
lous familiarity?  I  wanted  to  entreat  her  to  condescend  to 
look  up  sometimes  at  my  prison  window  when  she  came 
to  see  her  birds,  even  if  she  should  find  it  masked  by  a 
huge  wooden  shutter!  I  wanted  to  make  her  understand 
that  I  would  do  everything  that  was  humanly  possible  to 
contrive  to  see  her.  Good  God!  Will  she  abstain  from 
coming  to-morrow  on  account  of  that  indiscreet  gesture 
of  mine  ?  "  This  dread,  which  disturbed  Fabrizio's  slum- 
bers, was  thoroughly  well  founded.     By  three  o'clock  the 

335  •      • 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

next  day,  when  the  two  huge  screens  were  set  up  on  each 
of  Fabrizio's  windows,  Clelia  had  not  appeared.  The  vari- 
ous sections  of  these  screens  had  been  drawn  up  from  the 
platform  of  the  great  tower,  by  means  of  cords  and  pulleys, 
fastened  outside  the  iron  bars  of  the  windows.  It  is  true, 
indeed,  that  Clelia,  hidden  behind  one  of  the  sun  blinds  in 
her  room,  had  anxiously  watched  all  the  workman's  actions. 
She  had  clearly  perceived  Fabrizio's  mortal  anxiety,  but, 
nevertheless,  she  had  found  courage  to  keep  the  promise  she 
had  made  herself. 

Clelia  was  an  eager  little  Liberal.  In  her  first  youth 
she  had  taken  all  the  Liberal  talk  she  had  heard  in  her  father's 
society  in  the  most  serious  earnest,  while  her  father's  only 
view  of  it  was  to  make  a  position  for  himself.  This  had 
given  her  a  scorn  and  almost  a  horror  of  the  pliability  of 
courtiers;  hence  arose  her  dislike  to  marriage.  Since  Fa- 
brizio's arrival  she  had  been  harried  by  remorse.  "  Now," 
said  she  to  herself,  "  my  unworthy  heart  is  taking  up  the 
cause  of  those  who  would  betray  my  father.  He  dares  to 
make  me  signs,  as  if  he  would  saw  through  a  door.  .  .  . 
But,"  she  went  on,  and  her  heart  was  wrung  at  the  thought, 
"  the  whole  city  talks  of  his  approaching  death.  .  .  .  To- 
morrow may  be  the  fatal  day.  .  .  .  Under  such  monsters  as 
those  who  govern  us,  what  is  there  in  the  world  that  is  not 
possible?  How  soft,  how  nobly  calm,  are  those  eyes, 
doomed,  perhaps,  soon  to  close  forever!  Heavens,  what 
anguish  the  duchess  must  be  enduring!  .  .  .  And,  indeed, 
every  one  says  she  is  in  despair.  ...  If  it  were  I,  I  would 
go,  like  the  heroic  Charlotte  Corday,  and  stab  the  prince." 

During  the  whole  of  his  third  day  in  prison,  Fabrizio 
was  beside  himself  with  rage,  simply  and  solely  because 
Clelia  had  not  returned.  "  If  she  was  to  be  angry  with  me," 
he  exclaimed,  "  I  should  have  done  much  better  to  tell  her 
that  I  loved  her,"  for  he  had  arrived  at  this  discovery. 
"  No,  it  is  not  my  nobility  of  soul  that  prevents  me  from 
fretting  in  my  prison,  and  makes  me  bring  Father  Blanes's 
prophecy  to  naught.  I  do  not  deserve  so  much  honour.  In 
spite  of  myself,  I  dream  of  the  gentle  pitying  look  Clelia 
cast  on  me  as  the  gendarmes  were  leading  me  out  of  the 

336 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

guard-room — that  look  has  wiped  out  all  my  past  life !  Who 
would  have  told  me  I  should  have  met  such  gentle  eyes  in 
such  a  place !  and  at  the  very  moment  when  my  own  sight 
was  polluted  by  the  appearance  of  Barbone,  and  of  the 
general  who  rules  this  fortress!  Heaven  opened,  in  the 
midst  of  those  vile  creatures.  And  how  can  I  help  loving 
beauty,  and  seeking  to  see  it  again?  No,  it  is  not  my 
nobility  of  soul  which  makes  me  indifferent  to  all  the  petty 
annoyances  with  which  imprisonment  overwhelms  me." 
Fabrizio's  imagination,  running  rapidly  over  every  possibil- 
ity, reached  that  of  being  set  at  Hberty.  "  No  doubt  the 
duchess's  affection  will  work  miracles  for  me.  Ah,  well,  I 
should  thank  her  but  very  coldly  for  my  liberty;  there  is 
not  much  coming  back  to  such  places  as  these.  Once  I  was 
out  of  prison,  living  as  we  do  in  different  societies,  I  should 
hardly  ever  see  Clelia  again.  And,  after  all,  what  harm 
does  the  prison  do  me?  If  Clelia  would  only  not  crush  me 
with  her  displeasure,  what  more  need  I  ask  of  Heaven  ?  " 

On  the  evening  of  that  day  on  which  he  had  not  seen  his 
lovely  neighbour,  a  great  idea  occurred  to  him.  With  the  iron 
cross  of  the  rosary  given  to  each  prisoner  when  he  entered 
the  fortress,  he  began,  and  successfully,  to  work  a  hole  in 
the  screen.  "  This  is  not  very  prudent,  perhaps,"  thought 
he,  before  he  began.  "  The  carpenters  have  said  in  my  pres- 
ence that  they  will  be  followed  to-morrow  by  the  painters. 
What  will  the  painters  say  when  they  find  a  hole  in  the  win- 
dow screen?  But  if  I  do  not  commit  this  imprudence  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  see  her  to-morrow.  What!  shall  I 
deliberately  spend  another  day  without  seeing  her,  and  after 
she  has  left  me  in  anger  ?  "  Fabrizio's  imprudence  had  its 
reward;  after  fifteen  hours'  labour  he  did  see  Qelia,  and, 
by  an  excess  of  good  fortune,  as  she  thought  he  did  not 
see  her,  she  stood  motionless  for  a  long  time,  gazing  at  the 
great  screen.  He  had  ample  time  to  read  symptoms  of  the 
tenderest  pity  in  her  eyes.  Toward  the  end  of  her  visit  it 
became  evident  that  she  was  neglecting  the  care  of  her  birds 
to  spend  whole  minutes  in  contemplation  of  his  window. 
Her  soul  was  sorely  troubled;  she  was  thinking  of  the 
duchess,  whose  extreme  misery  had  inspired  her  with  so 

337 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

much  pity,  and  yet  she  was  beginning  to  hate  her.  She 
could  not  comprehend  the  profound  melancholy  which  was 
taking  possession  of  her  whole  nature,  and  she  was  angry 
with  herself.  Two  or  three  times  during  the  course  of  her 
visit  Fabrizio's  eagerness  led  him  to  try  to  shake  the  screen ; 
he  felt  as  if  he  could  not  be  happy  unless  he  could  make 
Clelia  understand  that  he  saw  her.  "  Yet,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "  shy  and  reserved  as  she  is,  no  doubt  if  she  knew  I 
could  see  her  so  easily,  she  would  hide  herself  from  my 
sight." 

He  was  much  more  fortunate  the  next  day  (on  what 
trifles  does  love  build  happiness !).  While  she  was  looking 
up  sadly  at  the  great  screen,  he  managed  to  slip  a  small 
piece  of  wire  through  the  hole  he  had  made  with  his  iron 
cross,  and  make  signs  to  her  which  she  evidently  under- 
stood— at  all  events  in  so  far  as  that  they  were  intended  to 
convey  "  I  am  here,  and  I  see  you." 

Bad  luck  followed  Fabrizio  on  the  following  days.  He 
was  anxious  to  take  a  bit  of  wood  the  size  of  his  hand  out 
of  the  monster  screen,  which  he  would  have  replaced  when- 
ever he  chose,  and  which  would  have  allowed  of  his  see- 
ing and  being  seen,  and  thus  of  speaking,  by  signs  at  all 
events,  of  that  which  filled  his  heart.  But  the  noise  of  the 
little  and  very  imperfect  saw  which  he  had  fashioned  out  of 
his  watch-spring  and  notched  with  his  cross  gave  the  alarm 
to  Grillo,  who  spent  long  hours  in  his  room.  He  thought 
he  observed,  indeed,  that  Clelia's  severity  seemed  to  dimin- 
ish in  proportion  as  the  material  difficulties,  which  pre- 
vented any  correspondence  between  them,  increased.  Fa- 
brizio noticed  clearly  that  she  no  longer  affected  to  drop  her 
eyes  or  look  at  the  birds  whenever  he  attempted  to  make  her 
aware  of  his  presence  with  the  help  of  his  paltry  bit  of  iron 
wire.  He  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  she  never  failed 
to  appear  in  her  aviary  exactly  as  the  clock  struck  a  quar- 
ter to  noon,  and  he  was  almost  presumptuous  enough  to 
believe  that  he  himself  was  the  cause  of  this  exact  punctu- 
ality. Why  so?  The  idea  does  not  appear  reasonable,  but 
love  catches  shades  which  are  invisible  to  the  careless  eye, 
and  deduces  endless  consequences  from  them.     For  in- 

338 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

stance,  since  Clelia  could  not  see  the  prisoner  she  would  raise 
her  eyes  toward  his  window  almost  as  soon  as  she  entered 
the  aviary.  These  were  the  gloomy  days  when  no  one  in 
Parma  doubted  that  Fabrizio  would  soon  be  put  to  death. 
He  was  the  only  person  unaware  of  the  fact.  But  the  hor- 
rible thought  was  never  out  of  Clelia's  mind,  and  how  could 
she  reproach  herself  for  the  excessive  interest  she  took  in 
Fabrizio  ?  He  was  about  to  perish,  and  for  the  cause  of  lib- 
erty, for  it  was  too  ridiculous  to  put  a  Del  Dongo  to  death 
for  giving  a  sword  thrust  to  an  actor.  It  was  true,  indeed, 
that  the  charming  young  man  was  attached  to  another 
woman.  Clelia  was  profoundly  miserable,  though  she  did 
not  clearly  realize  the  nature  of  the  interest  she  took  in  his 
fate.  "  If  he  is  led  out  to  death,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  I 
shall  certainly  take  refuge  in  a  convent,  and  never  again 
will  I  reappear  in  this  court  society.  It  fills  me  with  horror ; 
they  are  polished  murderers,  every  one  of  them !  " 

On  the  eighth  day  of  Fabrizio's  imprisonment  she  en- 
dured a  great  humiliation.  Absorbed  in  her  sad  thoughts, 
she  was  gazing  fixedly  at  the  prisoner's  window.  He  had 
given  no  sign  of  his  presence  that  day.  All  at  once  he  re- 
moved a  small  bit  of  his  screen,  a  little  larger  than  his  hand. 
He  looked  at  her  cheerily,  and  she  read  greeting  in  his  eyes. 
This  unexpected  experience  was  too  much  for  her;  she 
turned  quickly  to  her  birds,  and  began  to  attend  to  them; 
but  she  trembled  so  much  that  she  spilled  the  water  she  was 
pouring  out  for  them,  and  Fabrizio  could  see  her  emotion 
quite  plainly.  She  could  not  face  the  situation,  and  at  last, 
to  escape  it,  she  ran  away. 

That  moment  was,  without  any  comparison,  the  happiest 
in  the  whole  of  Fabrizio's  life.  If  his  liberty  had  been 
offered  to  him  at  that  moment,  how  joyously  would  he  have 
refused  it! 

The  following  day  was  that  of  the  duchess's  deepest  de- 
spair. Every  one  in  the  city  was  convinced  that  all  was  over 
with  Fabrizio.  Clelia  had  not  the  dreary  courage  to  treat 
him  with  a  harshness  which  found  no  echo  in  her  heart. 
She  spent  an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  aviary,  looked  at  all 
his  sig^s,  and  often  replied  to  them  by  the  liveHest  and 

339 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

sincerest  expression  of  interest,  at  all  events.  Every  now 
and  then  she  would  slip  away  to  conceal  her  tears.  Her 
womanly  instincts  made  her  vividly  conscious  of  the  imper- 
fection of  the  language  they  were  employing.  If  they  could 
have  spoken,  in  how  many  different  ways  might  she  not 
have  endeavoured  to  discover  the  real  nature  of  Fabrizio's 
feeling  for  the  duchess?  Clelia  could  hardly  deceive  her- 
self now ;  she  felt  a  hatred  for  the  Duchess  Sanseverina. 

One  night  Fabrizio  happened  to  think  somewhat  seri- 
ously about  his  aunt.  He  was  astonished  to  find  he  hardly 
recognised  his  recollection  of  her.  His  memory  of  her  had 
completely  altered;  at  that  moment  she  seemed  fifty  years 
old  to  him.  "  Grood  God !  "  he  cried  enthusiastically,  "  how 
right  I  was  not  to  tell  her  that  I  loved  her ! "  He  went  so 
far  as  hardly  to  be  able  to  understand  how  he  had  ever 
thought  her  so  pretty.  In  that  respect  the  alteration  in  his  im- 
pression of  little  Marietta  was  less  remarkable.  This  was 
because  he  had  never  dreamed  that  his  heart  had  anything 
to  do  with  his  love  for  Marietta,  whereas  he  had  frequently 
imagined  that  the  whole  of  his  heart  was  possessed  by  the 

duchess.    The  duchess  of  A and  Marietta  now  appeared 

in  his  memory  as  two  young  turtle-doves,  whose  whole 
charm  resided  in  their  weakness  and  their  innocence, 
whereas  the  noble  image  of  Clelia  Conti,  which  absorbed 
his  whole  soul,  actually  filled  him  with  a  kind  of  terror. 
He  felt,  only  too  clearly,  that  the  happiness  of  his  whole 
life  would  depend  on  the  governor's  daughter,  and  that  she 
had  it  in  her  power  to  make  him  the  most  miserable  of 
men.  Every  day  he  was  tortured  by  the  mortal  fear  of 
seeing  some  inexorable  caprice  end  the  strange  and  delight- 
ful life  he  led  in  her  vicinity.  At  all  events,  she  had  filled 
the  first  two  months  of  his  imprisonment  with  happiness. 
This  was  the  period  during  which,  twice  every  week,  General 
Fabio  Conti  assured  the  prince :  "  I  can  give  your  Highness 
my  word  of  honour  that  the  prisoner  Del  Dongo  never 
speaks  to  a  human  being,  and  spends  his  whole  life  either  in 
a  state  of  the  deepest  despair  or  else  asleep." 

Clelia  came  every  day,  two  or  three  times  over,  to  see 
her  birds.    Sometimes  she  only  stayed  a  few  moments.    If 

340 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Fabrido  had  not  cared  for  her  so  much  he  would  soon  have 
found  out  that  he  was  loved.  But  he  was  in  deadly  doubt 
upon  that  subject.  Clelia  had  ordered  a  piano  to  be  placed 
in  the  aviary.  While  her  fingers  wandered  over  the  keys, 
so  as  to  account  for  her  presence  in  the  room,  and  occupy 
the  attention  of  the  sentries  who  marched  to  and  fro  under 
her  windows,  her  eyes  answered  Fabrizio's  questions.  On 
one  subject  only  she  would  make  no  response,  and  on  certain 
great  occasions  she  even  took  to  flight,  and  thus  would 
sometimes  disappear  for  a  whole  day.  This  was  when  Fa- 
brizio's signs  indicated  feelings  the  nature  of  which  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  misunderstand.  On  that  point  she  was 
quite  inexorable. 

Thus,  closely  imprisoned  as  he  was,  within  a  narrow 
cage,  Fabrizio's  life  was  a  very  busy  one.  It  was  entirely 
devoted  to  the  solution  of  the  all-important  problem,  "  Will 
she  love  me  ?  "  The  result  of  endless  observation,  perpetu- 
ally renewed,  but  as  perpetually  shadowed  by  doubt,  was  as 
follows :  "  All  her  deliberate  gestures  answer  '  No,'  but  every 
involuntary  movement  of  her  eyes  seems  to  betray  her  grow- 
ing regard  for  me." 

Clelia  hoped  to  escape  any  open  avowal  of  his  love,  and 
it  was  to  avoid  this  risk  that  she  had  refused,  and  very 
angrily,  to  grant  a  request  which  Fabrizio  had  proffered 
several  times  over.  One  would  have  fancied  the  miserable 
expedients  to  which  the  poor  prisoner  was  reduced  would 
have  touched  Clelia's  heart  with  greater  pity.  He  wanted 
to  correspond  with  her,  by  means  of  letters  which  he  wrote 
upon  the  palm  of  his  hand  with  a  piece  of  charcoal  he  had 
been  so  lucky  as  to  find  in  his  stove.  He  would  have  made 
up  the  words  letter  by  letter,  showing  them  one  after  the 
other.  This  plan  would  have  facilitated  their  intercourse 
twofold,  for  it  would  have  allowed  of  his  putting  things  in  a 
clear  form.  His  window  was  some  five-and-twenty  feet  away 
from  Clelia's,  and  it  would  have  been  too  risky  to  talk  over 
the  heads  of  the  sentries,  who  marched  up  and  down  in 
front  of  the  governor's  palace.  Fabrizio  was  uncertain 
whether  he  was  loved  or  not.  If  he  had  possessed  any  ex- 
perience in  such  matters  he  would  have  had  no  doubt  at 

341 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

all.  But  till  now  no  woman  had  ever  filled  his  heart.  And 
further,  he  had  no  suspicion  of  a  fact  which  would  have 
driven  him  to  despair,  if  he  had  been  aware  of  it.  There  was 
serious  likelihood  of  a  marriage  between  Clelia  Conti  and 
the  Marchese  Crescenzi,  the  wealthiest  gentleman  at  the 
court  of  Parma. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

General  Fabio  Conti's  ambition,  goaded  to  madness 
by  the  difficulties  that  had  arisen  in  the  way  of  the  Prime 
Minister,  Count  Mosca,  and  which  seemed  to  threaten  his 
fall,  had  driven  him  into  violent  scenes  with  his  daughter. 
Perpetually  and  angrily  he  told  her  that  she  would  ruin  his 
prospects  unless  she  made  up  her  mind  to  choose  a  hus- 
band at  last.  She  was  past  twenty;  it  was  high  time  she 
should  come  to  some  decision.  An  end  must  be  put,  once  for 
all,  to  the  cruel  state  of  isolation  in  which  her  unreasonable 
obstinacy  placed  him,  and  so  forth. 

Clelia's  first  object,  when  she  took  refuge  in  her  aviary, 
had  been  to  escape  from  her  father's  constant  ill-humour. 
The  only  means  of  access  to  the  room  was  by  chmbing  a 
small  and  very  inconvenient  staircase,  a  serious  obstacle  to 
the  governor's  gouty  feet. 

For  the  past  few  weeks,  Clelia's  soul  had  been  so  storm- 
tossed,  she  was  so  puzzled,  herself,  to  know  what  she  ought 
to  desire,  that  without  actually  giving  her  father  her  word, 
she  had  almost  drifted  into  an  engagement.  In  one  of  his 
fits  of  rage  the  general  had  exclaimed  that  he  would  thrust 
her  into  the  gloomiest  convent  in  Parma,  and  leave  her 
there  to  fret  her  heart  out  until  she  condescended  to  make  a 
choice. 

"  You  know  that  our  family,  old  though  it  is,  can  not 
command  more  than  six  thousand  francs  a  year,  whereas  the 
Marchese  Crescenzi's  income  amounts  to  over  a  hundred 
thousand  crowns.  Every  soul  at  court  gives  him  the  char- 
acter of  being  the  kindest  of  men ;  he  is  a  very  good-looking 
fellow,  young,  high  in  the  prince's  favour,  and  I  say  that 
nobody  but  a  mad  woman  would  refuse  his  suit.  If  this  re- 
fusal had  been  your  first,  I  could  have  endured  it,  but  this  is 

343 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  fifth  or  sixth  offer,  the  very  best  at  court,  at  which  you 
turn  up  your  nose,  like  the  little  fool  you  are !  What  would 
become  of  you,  may  I  inquire,  if  I  were  put  on  half-pay  ?  A 
fine  triumph  it  would  be  for  my  enemies,  who  have  so  often 
heard  me  spoken  of  as  a  possible  minister,  to  see  me  living 
in  some  second-floor  apartment!  No,  'pon  my  soul!  my 
good  nature  has  misled  me  often  enough  into  playing  the 
part  of  Cassandra.  You  will  either  give  me  some  valid  rea- 
son for  your  objections  to  this  poor  fellow  Crescenzi,  who 
does  you  the  honour  to  be  in  love  with  you,  to  be  ready 
to  marry  you  without  a  fortune,  and  to  insure  you  a  dowry 
of  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year,  which  will,  at  all  events, 
insure  me  a  home — you  will  talk  sense  to  me,  or — devil  take 
it!  I'll  make  you  marry  him  within  the  next  two  months." 

The  only  word  in  all  this  speech  that  had  impressed 
Clelia  was  the  threat  about  the  convent,  which  would  re- 
move her  from  the  citadel  at  a  moment  when  Fabrizio's  life 
still  seemed  to  hang  upon  a  thread.  For  not  a  month  passed 
but  that  the  report  of  his  approaching  death  was  noised 
afresh  about  the  town  and  court.  However  severely  she 
argued  with  herself,  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  run 
this  risk.  To  be  parted  from  Fabrizio,  and  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  she  was  trembling  for  his  life,  was,  in  her  eyes, 
the  greatest — at  all  events,  it  was  the  most  pressing — of  all 
possible  misfortunes. 

It  was  not  that  proximity  to  Fabrizio  fed  her  heart  with 
any  hope  of  happiness.  She  believed  the  duchess  loved  him, 
and  her  soul  was  torn  by  deadly  jealousy.  Her  mind  dwelt 
incessantly  on  the  advantages  possessed  by  a  lady  who  com- 
manded such  general  admiration.  The  extreme  reserve  with 
which  she  carefully  treated  Fabrizio,  the  language  of  signs 
to  which,  in  her  dread  of  some  possible  indiscretion,  she  had 
restricted  him,  all  seemed  to  combine  to  deprive  her  of  the 
means  of  reaching  some  clearer  knowledge  of  his  feelings 
about  the  duchess.  Thus,  every  day  made  her  more  cruelly 
conscious  of  the  terrible  misfortune  of  having  a  rival  in 
Fabrizio's  heart,  and  every  day  her  courage  to  expose  her- 
self to  the  danger  of  giving  him  an  opportunity  of  telling 
her  all  the  truth  as  to  what  that  heart  felt,  grew  less  and  less. 

344 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Yet  what  exquisite  joy  would  it  have  been  to  hear  him 
express  his  real  feelings!  How  happy  it  would  have  made 
Clelia  to  be  able  to  lighten  the  hideous  suspicions  that 
poisoned  her  existence. 

Fabrizio  was  a  trifler.  At  Naples  he  had  borne  the  repu- 
tation of  being  a  man  who  was  always  changing  his  mis- 
tresses. In  spite  of  all  the  reserve  natural  to  an  unmarried 
girl,  Clelia,  since  she  had  been  a  canoness,  and  had  fre- 
quented the  court,  had  made  herself  acquainted — not  by 
questioning,  but  merely  by  a  process  of  careful  listening — 
with  the  reputation  of  each  of  the  young  men  who  had  suc- 
cessively sought  her  hand  in  marriage.  Well,  compared 
with  all  these  young  men,  Fabrizio's  reputation,  as  regarded 
his  love-affairs,  was  the  most  fickle.  He  was  in  prison,  he 
was  bored,  he  was  making  love  to  the  only  woman  to  whom 
he  had  a  chance  of  speaking.  What  could  be  more  simple  ? 
What,  indeed,  more  usual  ?  And  that  was  the  thought  which 
distressed  Clelia.  If  some  full  revelation  convinced  her  that 
Fabrizio  did  not  love  the  duchess,  what  confidence,  even  then, 
could  she  place  in  his  vows?  And  even  if  she  had  believed 
in  the  sincerity,  what  trust  could  she  place  in  the  durability 
of  his  feelings?  And  finally,  to  make  her  heart  overflow 
with  despair,  was  not  Fabrizio  already  high  up  in  the  eccle- 
siastical career?  Was  he  not  on  the  very  eve  of  taking 
permanent  vows?  Were  not  the  highest  dignities  in  that 
special  line  of  Hfe  in  store  for  him  ?  "  If  I  had  the  faintest 
spark  of  good  sense,"  thought  the  unhappy  Clelia  to  herself, 
"  should  I  not  take  to  flight  ?  Ought  I  not  to  beseech  my 
father  to  shut  me  up  in  some  far  distant  convent?  And  to 
crown  my  misery,  it  is  my  very  terror  of  being  sent  away 
from  the  citadel,  and  being  shut  up  in  a  convent,  which  in- 
spires all  my  actions.  It  is  this  terror  which  drives  me  into 
deceit,  and  forces  me  into  the  hideous  and  shameful  false- 
hood of  publicly  accepting  the  Marchese  Crescenzi's  atten- 
tions." 

Clelia  was  exceedingly  reasonable  by  nature ;  never  once 
in  her  life,  hitherto,  had  she  had  reason  to  reproach  herself 
with  an  ill-considered  action.  Yet  in  this  matter  her  beha- 
viour was  the  very  acme  of  unreasonableness.    Her  misery 

345 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

may  be  imagined.  It  was  all  the  more  cruel  because  the 
girl  was  under  no  illusion;  she  was  giving  her  heart  to  a 
man  with  whom  the  most  beautiful  woman  at  court,  a 
woman  who  was  her  own  superior  in  numerous  particulars, 
was  desperately  in  love.  And  this  man,  even  if  he  had  been 
free,  was  incapable  of  any  serious  attachment,  whereas  she, 
as  she  felt  only  too  clearly,  would  never  care  but  for  one 
person  in  her  life. 

During  her  daily  visits  to  her  aviary,  then,  Clelia's  heart 
was  torn  by  the  most  cruel  remorse.  Yet  when  she  reached 
the  spot,  the  object  of  her  anxiety  was  changed ;  almost  in 
spite  of  herself,  it  became  less  cruel,  and,  for  an  instant, 
her  remorse  died  away.  With  beating  heart  she  awaited 
the  moments  when  Fabrizio  was  able  to  open  the  little 
shutter  he  had  made  in  the  huge  wooden  screen  that  masked 
his  window.  Often  the  presence  of  the  jailer  Grillo  in  his 
room  prevented  him  from  communicating  by  signs  with  his 
friend. 

One  evening,  about  eleven  o'clock,  Fabrizio  heard  the 
strangest  sounds  within  the  citadel.  By  lying  on  the 
window-sill  and  slipping  his  head  through  his  shutter-hole, 
he  could  contrive,  at  night,  to  make  out  the  louder  noises 
on  the  great  stairway,  called  the  "  Three  Hundred  Steps," 
which  ran  from  the  first  courtyard  within  the  Round  Tower 
to  the  stone  terrace  on  which  the  governor's  palace  and  the 
Farnese  Prison,  in  which  he  was  confined,  were  built. 

Toward  the  middle  of  its  course,  somewhere  near  the 
hundred  and  eightieth  step,  this  staircase  was  carried  from 
the  southern  to  the  northern  side  of  a  great  courtyard.  At 
this  point  there  was  a  very  light  and  narrow  iron  bridge,  the 
centre  of  which  was  kept  by  a  porter.  The  man  was  relieved 
every  six  hours,  and  he  was  obliged  to  stand  up  and  flatten 
his  body  against  the  side  of  the  bridge  before  any  one  could 
cross  it.  This  bridge  was  the  only  method  of  access  to  the 
governor's  palace  and  the  Farnese  Tower.  Two  turns  of  a 
screw,  the  key  of  which  the  governor  always  kept  upon  his 
person,  sufficed  to  drop  this  iron  bridge  more  than  a  hun- 
dred feet  down  into  the  court  below.  Once  this  simple  pre- 
caution had  been  taken — as  no  other  staircase  existed  in 

346 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  citadel,  and  as  every  night,  as  twelve  o'clock  struck,  an 
adjutant  brought  the  ropes  belonging  to  every  well  in  the 
fortress  into  the  governor's  house,  and  placed  them  in  a 
closet  beyond  his  own  bedroom — access  to  the  governor's 
palace  was  utterly  impossible,  and  it  would  have  been 
equally  impossible  to  get  into  the  Farnese  Tower.  Fabrizio 
had  clearly  realized  this  fact  on  the  day  of  his  entrance  into 
the  citadel,  and  Grillo,  who,  like  every  jailer,  was  fond  of 
boasting  about  his  prison,  had  re-explained  the  matter  to 
him  several  times  over.  His  hopes  of  escape  were  therefore 
very  faint.  Yet  one  of  Father  Blanes's  sayings  lived  in  his 
memory :  "  The  lover  thinks  oftener  of  reaching  his  mis- 
tress than  the  husband  thinks  of  guarding  his  wife;  the 
prisoner  thinks  more  often  of  escape  than  the  jailer  thinks 
of  locking  the  doors.  Therefore,  in  spite  of  every  obstacle, 
the  lover  and  the  prisoner  are  certain  to  succeed." 

That  evening  Fabrizio  distinctly  heard  a  numerous 
party  of  men  cross  the  iron  bridge — called  the  "  Bridge  of  the 
Slave,"  because  a  Dalmatian  slave  had  once  contrived  to 
escape  by  throwing  the  keeper  of  it  over  into  the  courtyard 
below. 

"  They  are  coming  to  carry  somebody  off ;  perhaps  they 
are  going  to  take  me  out  and  hang  me.  But  there  may  be 
some  confusion;  I  must  take  advantage  of  it."  He  had 
taken  his  arms,  and  was  just  withdrawing  his  money  from 
some  of  his  hiding-places,  when  he  suddenly  stopped  short. 

"  Man  is  a  strange  animal ;  there's  no  denying  that,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  What  would  any  invisible  spectator  think  if 
he  saw  my  preparations  ?  Do  I  really  want  to  escape  at  all  ? 
What  would  become  of  me  the  day  after  that  on  which  I 
returned  to  Parma?  Should  I  not  make  every  possible 
effort  to  get  back  to  Clelia?  If  there  is  any  confusion,  let 
me  take  advantage  of  it  to  slip  into  the  governor's  palace. 
Perhaps  I  might  get  speech  of  Clelia;  perhaps  the  con- 
fusion would  provide  me  with  an  excuse  for  kissing  her 
hand.  General  Conti,  who  is  as  naturally  suspicious  as  he 
is  constitutionally  vain,  keeps  five  sentries  on  his  palace, 
one  at  each  corner  and  one  at  the  entrance  door.  But  luck- 
ily for  me  the  night  is  as  dark  as  pitch."    Fabrizio  crept  on 

347 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

tiptoe  to  find  out  what  Grillo,  the  jailer,  and  his  dog  were 
about.  The  jailer  was  sound  asleep,  wrapped  in  an  ox-skin 
slung  by  four  cords,  and  supported  by  a  coarse  net.  Fox, 
the  dog,  opened  his  eyes,  rose,  and  crawled  over  to  Fa- 
brizio  to  be  patted. 

Our  prisoner  went  softly  back  up  the  six  steps  which 
led  to  his  wooden  shed.  The  noise  at  the  base  of  the  tower, 
and  just  in  front  of  the  door,  had  grown  so  loud  that  he 
quite  expected  Grillo  would  wake  up.  Fabrizio,  fully  armed 
and  prepared  for  action,  believed  this  night  was  to  bring 
about  some  great  adventure.  But  suddenly  he  heard  the 
first  notes  of  a  most  beautiful  symphony.  Somebody 
had  come  to  serenade  the  general  or  his  daughter.  He 
burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughter.  "  And  I  was  al- 
ready prepared  to  deal  dagger  thrusts  in  all  directions.  As 
if  a  serenade  were  not  an  infinitely  more  probable  thing 
than  an  abduction  that  necessitated  the  presence  of  eighty 
persons  in  a  prison,  or  than  a  revolt !  "  The  music  was 
excellent,  and  to  Fabrizio,  whose  soul  had  been  a  stranger 
to  such  delights  for  many  weeks,  it  seemed  exquisite.  He 
shed  happy  tears  as  he  listened,  and  poured  out  the  most 
irresistible  speeches  to  the  fair  Clelia  in  his  delight.  But  at 
noon  next  day  she  looked  so  deeply  sad,  she  was  so  pale, 
and  the  glances  she  cast  at  him  were  occasionally  so  wrath- 
ful, that  he  did  not  venture  to  ask  her  any  question  about  the 
serenade ;  he  was  afraid  of  appearing  rude. 

Clelia  had  good  reason  to  be  sad ;  the  serenade  had  been 
offered  her  by  the  Marchese  Crescenzi.  Such  a  public  step 
was  tantamount  to  a  kind  of  official  announcement  of  her 
marriage.  Until  that  very  day,  and  even  until  nine  o'clock 
that  evening,  she  had  stood  out  nobly.  But  she  had  given 
in  at  last,  on  her  father's  threat  that  he  would  instantly  send 
her  to  the  convent. 

"  Then  I  should  never  see  him  again,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, weeping.  In  vain  did  her  reason  add :  "  I  should  never 
see  him  again — that  man  who  will  bring  me  every  sort  of 
sorrow,  the  lover  of  the  duchess,  the  fickle  being  who  is 
known  to  have  had  ten  mistresses  at  Naples,  and  to  have 
forsaken  them  all.    I  should  never  see  him  again — that  am- 

348 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

bitious  youth,  who,  if  he  escapes  the  sentence  now  hanging 
over  him,  will  immediately  re-enter  the  service  of  the 
Church,  It  would  be  a  crime  if  I  were  ever  to  look  at 
him  again,  once  he  has  left  the  citadel,  and  his  natural  in- 
constancy will  spare  me  that  temptation.  For  what  am  I 
to  him?  A  mere  pretext  for  lightening  his  boredom  for  a 
few  hours  of  each  of  his  days  in  prison."  Even  while  she 
thus  reviled  him  the  memory  of  his  smile,  as  he  looked  at 
the  gendarmes  round  him  when  he  was  leaving  the  jailer's 
office  on  his  way  to  the  Farnese  Tower,  came  back  to 
Clelia's  memory.  Her  eyes  overflowed  with  tears.  "  Dear 
friend,  what  would  I  not  do  for  you !  You  will  be  my  ruin, 
I  know ;  that  is  my  fate.  I  work  my  own  destruction,  and 
in  the  vilest  way,  when  I  listen  to  this  terrible  serenade  to- 
night. But  at  noon  to-morrow  I  shall  look  into  your  eyes 
again !  " 

It  was  on  the  very  morrow  of  that  day  on  which  Clelia 
had  sacrificed  so  much  for  the  young  prisoner  whom  she 
loved  so  passionately — it  was  on  the  morrow  of  the  day 
on  which,  conscious  though  she  was  of  all  his  faults,  she 
had  sacrificed  her  life  to  him,  that  her  coldness  almost  drove 
Fabrizio  to  despair.  If,  even  through  the  imperfect  lan- 
guage of  signs,  he  had  done  the  least  violence  to  Clelia's 
feelings,  she  would  probably  not  have  been  able  to 
restrain  her  tears,  and  Fabrizio  would  have  obtained  hef 
confession  of  all  she  felt  for  him.  But  he  was  not  bold 
enough ;  he  was  too  mortally  afraid  of  displeasing  Clelia. 
The  punishment  she  had  it  in  her  power  to  inflict  on  him 
was  too  severe  for  him  to  face.  In  other  words,  Fabrizio 
had  no  experience  of  the  nature  of  the  emotion  stirred  in  a 
man  by  the  woman  he  really  loves.  It  was  a  sensation  he  had 
never  felt  before,  even  to  the  very  faintest  extent.  It  took 
him  a  week  from  the  night  of  the  serenade  to  recover  his 
accustomed  terms  of  friendship  with  Clelia.  The  poor  girl, 
terrified  lest  she  should  betray  herself,  took  refuge  in  sever- 
ity, and  every  day  Fabrizio  fancied  his  favour  with  her  gprew 
less. 

One  day — Fabrizio  had  then  been  in  prison  almost  three 
months,  without  holding  any  communication  with  the  outer 

349 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

world,  yet  without  feeling  unhappy — Grillo  had  remained  in 
his  room  far  into  the  morning.  Fabrizio  was  in  despair,  not 
knowing  how  to  get  rid  of  him.  Half-past  twelve  o'clock 
had  struck  before  he  was  able  to  open  the  two  little  traps, 
a  foot  high,  which  he  had  cut  in  his  hateful  screen.  Clelia 
was  standing  at  the  aviary  window,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Fa- 
brizio's  room.  The  deepest  despair  hovered  over  her  drawn 
features.  Hardly  had  she  caught  sight  of  Fabrizio  than  she 
made  him  a  sign  that  all  was  lost ;  then,  hurrying  to  her 
piano  and  pretending  to  sing  a  recitative  out  of  an  opera 
then  in  vogue,  she  said,  in  sentences  broken  by  her  despair 
and  the  fear  of  being  understood  by  the  sentinels  marching 
up  and  down  under  the  window : 

"  Good  God !  you  are  still  alive !  How  deeply  I  thank 
Heaven !  Barbone,  the  jailer  whose  insolence  you  punished 
on  the  day  of  your  arrival  here,  had  disappeared,  and  left 
the  citadel  altogether.  He  returned  the  night  before  last, 
and  since  yesterday  I  have  had  reason  to  think  he  is  try- 
ing to  poison  you.  He  comes  and  hangs  about  the  private 
kitchen  in  the  palace,  where  your  meals  are  cooked.  I  know 
nothing  for  certain,  but  my  waiting-woman  believes  that 
vile  countenance  only  comes  into  the  palace  kitchens  with 
the  object  of  destroying  your  life.  I  was  beside  myself  with 
anxiety  when  you  did  not  appear ;  I  thought  you  were  dead ! 
Do  not  eat  any  food  that  is  brought  you,  until  I  give  you 
leave.  I  will  contrive  some  means  of  sending  you  a  little 
chocolate.  In  any  case,  at  nine  o'clock  to-night,  if,  by 
Heaven's  mercy,  you  happen  to  have  a  thread,  or  can  make 
a  line  out  of  some  of  your  linen,  let  it  drop  from  your 
window  on  to  the  orange  trees  below.  I  will  fasten  a  cord 
to  it,  which  you  will  draw  up,  and  by  means  of  that  cord  I 
will  send  you  bread  and  chocolate." 

Fabrizio  had  treasured  up  the  scrap  of  charcoal  he  had 
found  in  the  stove  in  his  room.  He  made  haste  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  Clelia's  emotion,  and  to  write  on  his  hand  a 
succession  of  letters  which  made  up  the  following  words: 

"  I  love  you,  and  the  only  reason  my  life  is  precious  to 
me  is  because  I  see  you.  Above  all  things,  send  me  paper 
and  a  pencil." 

350 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

As  Fabrizio  had  hoped,  the  excessive  terror  he  had  read 
in  Clelia's  face  prevented  the  young  girl  from  breaking  off 
their  conversation  after  his  bold  declaration  that  he  loved 
her.  All  she.  did  was  to  look  very  much  displeased.  Fa- 
brizio was  clever  enough  to  add :  "  There  is  so  much  wind 
to-day  that  I  can  hardly  make  out  the  counsels  you  are 
good  enough  to  give  me  as  you  sing;  the  noise  of  the 
piano  drowns  your  voice.  What  is  the  poison  of  which 
you  speak  ?  " 

At  his  words  all  the  young  girl's  alarm  broke  out  afresh ; 
she  began  hastily  writing  large  letters  in  ink  on  pages  which 
she  tore  out  of  a  book,  and  Fabrizio  was  beside  himself  with 
delight  at  seeing  the  method  of  correspondence  he  had  so 
vainly  begged,  established  at  last,  after  three  months  of 
effort.  He  carefully  clung  to  the  little  deception  which  had 
served  his  purpose  so  well.  What  he  wanted  to  do  was  to 
write  letters,  and  he  kept  pretending  he  could  not  catch  the 
sense  of  the  words,  the  letters  of  which  Clelia  held  up  to 
his  gaze  one  after  the  other. 

She  was  obliged  to  leave  the  aviary  and  hurry  to  her 
father.  Her  greatest  terror  was  that  he  might  come  to  look 
for  her  there.  His  suspicious  instinct  would  have  been  very 
much  offended  by  the  dose  vicinity  of  the  aviary  window 
to  the  screen  concealing  that  of  the  prisoner's  room.  It 
had  occurred  to  Clelia  herself,  a  few  minutes  previously, 
when  Fabrizio's  non-appearance  was  causing  her  such  mortal 
anxiety,  that  a  piece  of  paper  wrapped  round  a  small  stone 
might  be  thrown  over  the  top  of  the  screen.  If,  by  good 
luck,  the  jailer  in  charge  of  Fabrizio  should  not  happen  to 
be  in  his  room,  this  would  be  a  quite  reliable  method  of 
correspondence. 

Our  prisoner  lost  no  time  in  fashioning  a  kind  of  line  out 
of  some  of  his  under-linen,  and  a  little  after  nine  o'clock  in 
the  evening  he  distinctly  heard  a  slight  tapping  on  the  boxes 
of  the  orange  trees  under  his  window.  He  let  down  his 
line,  and  brought  up,  fastened  to  the  end  of  it,  a  very  long, 
thin  cord,  by  means  of  which  he  drew  up,  to  begin  with,  a 
supply  of  chocolate,  and  then,  to  his  inexpressible  satisfac- 
tion, a  roll  of  paper  and  a  pencil.    In  vain  did  he  drop  his 

351 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

cord  down  again;  nothing  more  was  sent  up.  Probably 
the  sentries  had  approached  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
orange  trees.  But  he  was  beside  himself  with  delight.  He 
instantly  wrote  an  endless  letter  to  Clelia,  and  the  moment 
it  was  finished  he  fastened  it  to  his  line  and  let  it  down. 
For  more  than  three  hours  he  waited  vainly  for  her  to  come 
and  take  it,  and  several  times  he  drew  it  up  again  to  alter 
expressions  in  it.  "  If  Clelia  does  not  see  my  letter  to- 
night," he  thought,  "  while  she  is  still  softened  by  her  idea 
about  the  poison,  she  may,  when  morning  comes,  utterly 
refuse  to  receive  any  letter  from  me  at  all." 

The  real  truth  was  that  Clelia  had  not  been  able  to  get 
out  of  going  down  into  the  town  with  her  father.  This 
idea  occurred  to  Fabrizio  when  he  heard  the  general's  car- 
riage drive  up,  about  half  an  hour  after  midnight.  He  knew 
the  sound  of  his  horses'  feet.  What  was  his  joy  when,  a 
few  minutes  after  he  had  heard  the  sentries  salute  the  gen- 
eral as  he  crossed  the  terrace,  he  felt  a  tremor  shake  the 
cord,  which  he  had  kept  wound  about  his  arm.  Something 
very  heavy  was  being  fastened  to  the  end  of  it.  Two  slight 
pulls  gave  him  the  signal  to  draw  it  up.  He  had  some 
difficulty  in  getting  the  heavy  object  past  a  very  projecting 
cornice  that  ran  below  his  window. 

The  object  he  had  found  it  so  difficult  to  draw  up  was 
a  bottle  filled  with  water,  wrapped  in  a  shawl.  In  a  pas- 
sion of  delight  the  poor  young  fellow,  who  had  lived  so  long 
in  such  complete  solitude,  covered  the  shawl  with  kisses. 
But  no  words  of  mine  can  depict  his  emotion  when,  after 
all  those  many  days  of  disappointed  hope,  his  eyes  fell  on 
a  little  scrap  of  paper,  fastened  to  the  shawl  with  a  pin. 

"  Drink  no  water  but  this ;  live  on  the  chocolate.  To- 
morrow I  will  make  every  effort  to  send  you  up  some  bread. 
I  will  mark  it  all  over  with  little  crosses  in  ink. 

"  It  is  a  horrible  thing  to  say,  but  you  must  be  told,  that 
Barbone  may  possibly  be  sent  here  to  poison  you.  How 
comes  it  that  you  have  not  felt  the  subject  of  your  pencil 
letter  must  be  most  displeasing  to  me?  And,  indeed,  I 
would  not  write  to  you  at  all  but  for  the  excessive  danger 
that  threatens  us.     I  have  just  seen  the  duchess;  she  is 

352 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

very  well,  and  so  is  the  count.  But  she  has  gfrown  much 
thinner.  Do  not  write  to  me  again  upon  that  subject.  Do 
you  want  me  to  be  angry  with  you  ?  " 

It  required  a  great  effort  of  virtue  on  Clelia's  part  to 
write  the  last  line  but  one  of  her  note.  Everybody  about 
court  was  declaring  that  the  Duchess  Sanseverina  was  begfin- 
ning  to  feel  a  great  regard  for  Count  Baldi,  that  very  good- 
looking  young  man  who  had  been  the  Marchesa  Raversi's 
friend.  One  point  was  quite  certain — he  had  broken  in  the 
most  scandalous  fashion  with  the  aforementioned  mar- 
chesa, who  had  been  a  mother  to  him  for  six  years,  and  had 
established  his  social  position.  Clelia  had  been  obliged  to 
write  her  hasty  note  twice  over,  because  in  the  first  copy 
she  had  allowed  something  of  the  new  love  affair  ascribed  to 
the  duchess  by  public  spite  to  appear. 

"  What  a  mean  creature  I  am,"  she  exclaimed,  "  to  speak 
evil  of  the  woman  he  loves  to  Fabrizio !  " 

The  next  morning,  long  before  daylight,  Grillo  entered 
Fabrizio's  room,  put  down  a  rather  heavy  parcel,  and  dis- 
appeared without  a  word.  The  bundle  contained  a  good- 
sized  loaf  of  bread,  covered  all  over  with  little  pen-and-ink 
crosses.  Fabrizio  covered  them  with  kisses ;  he  was  very 
much  in  love.  With  the  loaf  he  found  a  "  rouleau,"  con- 
taining six  thousand  francs  in  sequins,  wrapped  in  numer- 
ous paper  coverings,  and  finally  a  beautiful  new  breviary. 
On  the  margin  of  the  book  the  following  words  had  been 
traced,  in  a  handwriting  he  was  beginning  to  know : 

"  Poison!  Beware  of  water,  of  wine,  of  everything !  Live 
on  chocolate ;  try  to  make  the  dog  eat  the  dinner  you  will 
not  touch.  Do  not  betray  your  suspicions.  The  enemy 
would  seek  out  some  other  means.  Let  there  be  no  im- 
prudence, in  God's  name,  and  no  carelessness !  " 

Fabrizio  immediately  removed  the  precious  words, 
which  might  have  compromised  Clelia,  and,  tearing  a  g^eat 
number  of  leaves  out  of  the  breviary,  he  made  up  several 
alphabets,  each  letter  clearly  written  with  charcoal  crushed 
up  and  moistened  with  wine.  These  alphabets  were  dry 
by  the  time  a  quarter  to  twelve  struck,  and  Clelia  made  her 
appearance  two  paces  from  the  aviary  window.     "  Now," 

353 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  the  g^eat  thing  is  to  get  her  to 
make  use  of  them."  But  by  good  luck,  she  had  many  things 
to  tell  the  young  prisoner  about  the  attempt  to  poison  him. 
A  dog  belonging  to  the  servant  girls  had  died  after  eating  of 
a  dish  which  had  been  cooked  for  Fabrizio.  So  that  Clelia, 
far  from  objecting  to  the  use  of  alphabets,  had  prepared  a 
splendid  one  of  her  own,  written  in  ink.  The  conversation 
thus  carried  on — not  a  very  easy  matter  during  the  first  few 
minutes — lasted  no  less  than  an  hour  and  a  half;  that  is  to 
say,  for  as  long  as  Clelia  could  stay  in  the  aviary.  Two  or 
three  times,  when  Fabrizio  ventured  on  forbidden  subjects, 
she  deigned  him  no  answer,  and  turned  away  for  a  moment 
to  bestow  some  necessary  care  upon  her  birds. 

Fabrizio  had  induced  her  to  promise  that  at  night,  when 
she  sent  him  water,  she  would  also  send  him  one  of  her  own 
alphabets,  written  in  ink,  which  was  much  more  easily  de- 
ciphered. He  did  not  fail  to  write  her  a  very  long  letter, 
from  which  he  was  careful  to  exclude  all  expression  of 
tenderness,  or  any,  at  all  events,  likely  to  give  oflfence. 
This  method  proved  successful,  and  his  letter  was  accepted. 
When  their  alphabet  conversation  began  next  day  Clelia 
did  not  reproach  him.  She  told  him  the  danger  of  poison 
was  growing  less;  the  serving-men  who  made  love  to  the 
governor's  kitchen-maids  had  fallen  upon  Barbone  and  half 
murdered  him.  He  would  probably  not  venture  to  reappear 
in  the  kitchens.  Clelia  confessed  that  for  Fabrizio's  sake  she 
had  dared  to  steal  an  antidote  in  her  father's  possession ;  this 
she  would  send  him.  The  great  point  was  that  he  should 
instantly  reject  any  food  the  taste  of  which  was  unusual. 

Clelia  had  questioned  Don  Cesare  very  closely,  without 
being  able  to  discover  the  source  of  the  six  thousand  se- 
quins Fabrizio  had  received.  But  in  any  case  it  was  an 
excellent  sign;  his  captors'  severity  was  softening. 

This  poison  episode  advanced  our  prisoner's  business 
mightily.  He  could  not,  indeed,  extract  the  slightest  con- 
fession of  anything  like  love.  But  he  had  the  delight  of  liv- 
ing on  the  most  intimate  terms  with  Clelia.  Every  morning, 
and  sometimes  in  the  evenings,  too,  they  held  a  long  con- 
versation with  their  alphabets.    Every  night  at  nine  o'clock, 

354 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Qelia  accepted  a  long  letter,  and  sometimes  returned  a  few 
words  in  reply.  She  sent  him  up  the  newspaper  and  a  few 
books,  and  Grillo  had  been  coaxed  into  bringing  Fabrizio 
wine  and  bread,  with  which  he  was  supplied  every  day  by 
Clelia's  waiting-maid.  The  jailer  had  concluded  that  the 
governor  was  not  in  agreement  with  the  persons  who  had 
sent  Barbone  to  poison  the  young  monsignore,  and  he,  as 
well  as  his  comrades,  was  heartily  glad  of  it,  for  it  had  be- 
come a  proverb  in  the  prison  that  if  a  man  only  looked  Mon- 
signore del  Dongo  in  the  face  he  was  sure  to  give  him 
money. 

Fabrizio  had  grown  very  pallid.  The  total  absence  of 
exercise  tried  his  health,  but  except  for  that,  he  had  never 
been  so  happy  in  his  life.  The  tone  of  his  conversations  with 
Clelia  was  intimate,  and  sometimes  very  merry.  The  only 
moments  in  Clelia's  life  that  were  not  embittered  by  terrible 
forebodings  and  remorse  were  those  she  spent  talking  to 
him. 

One  day  she  was  so  imprudent  as  to  say : 

"  I  admire  your  delicacy.  As  I  am  the  governor's  daugh- 
ter, you  never  speak  to  me  of  your  desire  to  recover  your 
liberty." 

"  That  is  because  I  have  no  such  ridiculous  desire,"  re- 
plied Fabrizio.  "  If  I  once  got  back  to  Parma  how  should 
I  ever  see  you?  And  life  would  be  unendurable  to  me, 
henceforth,  if  I  could  not  tell  you  all  my  thoughts.  .  .  .  No, 
not  exactly  all  my  thoughts.  You  take  good  care  of  that. 
But,  after  all,  in  spite  of  your  unkindness,  to  live  without 
seeing  you  every  day  would  be  far  worse  suflFering  to  me 
than  this  imprisonment.  I  never  was  so  happy  in  my  life. 
Is  it  not  comical  that  my  happiness  should  have  been  wait- 
ing for  me  in  a  prison  ?  " 

"There  are  a  great  many  things  to  be  said  upon  that 
subject,"  replied  Clelia,  suddenly  growing  very  grave,  and 
almost  gloomy. 

"  What !  "  cried  Fabrizio  in  great  alarm,  "  am  I  in  danger 
of  losing  that  little  corner  I  have  won  in  your  heart,  the 
only  happiness  I  have  in  all  the  world  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.    "  I  have  every  reason  to  think  you 

355 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

are  not  acting  honestly  by  me,  although  in  the  world  you 
are  considered  a  very  honourable  man.  But  I  will  not  go 
into  this  matter  to-day." 

This  curious  confidence  made  that  day's  conversation 
very  awkward,  and  tears  often  stood  in  the  eyes  of  both 
speakers. 

Chief-Justice  Rassi  still  pined  to  change  his  name.  He 
was  very  weary  of  the  one  he  had  made  himself,  and  longed 
to  be  called  the  Baron  Riva.  Count  Mosca,  on  his  side, 
was  working,  with  all  the  skill  he  possessed,  to  feed  the 
venal  judge's  passion  for  his  barony,  and  to  double  the 
prince's  mad  hope  of  making  himself  constitutional  King 
of  Lombardy.  These  were  the  only  two  methods  of  delay- 
ing Fabrizio's  execution  he  had  been  able  to  discover. 

The  prince  kept  saying  to  Rassi :  "  A  fortnight's  despair, 
and  a  fortnight's  hope.  By  patiently  carrying  out  this  treat- 
ment we  shall  contrive  to  break  down  that  haughty  woman's 
temper.  It  is  this  alternation  of  gentleness  and  severity 
which  is  used  to  break  in  the  most  unmanageable  horses. 
Apply  the  caustic  with  a  steady  hand." 

So  every  fortnight  a  fresh  report  of  Fabrizio's  approach- 
ing death  spread  over  Parma.  Each  of  these  stories  plunged 
the  unhappy  duchess  into  the  deepest  despair.  Faithful  to 
her  resolve  not  to  drag  the  count  down  into  her  own  ruin, 
she  would  only  see  him  twice  in  the  month.  But  her  cruelty 
to  the  poor  man  was  punished  by  the  continual  alternations 
of  hope  and  dark  despair  in  which  her  own  life  was  spent. 
In  vain  did  Count  Mosca,  in  spite  of  the  bitter  jealousy 
caused  him  by  the  attentions  of  the  good-looking  Baldi,  write 
to  the  duchess  when  he  could  not  see  her,  and  acquaint  her 
with  all  the  information  he  owed  to  the  future  Baron  Riva. 
To  make  a  stand  against  the  horrible  reports  concerning 
Fabrizio,  which  were  in  such  constant  circulation,  the 
duchess  should  have  spent  all  her  time  with  a  clever  and 
kind-hearted  man  such  as  Mosca,  Baldi's  stupidity,  which 
left  her  alone  with  her  own  thoughts,  rendered  existence 
hideous  to  her,  and  the  count  could  not  succeed  in  inspiring 
her  with  his  own  reasons  for  hope. 

By  means  of  certain  ingenious  pretexts  the  minister  in- 

356 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

duced  the  prince  to  consent  to  send  the  documents  concern- 
ing all  the  very  complicated  intrigues  which,  according  to 
Ranuzio  Ernest  IV's  wild  hope,  were  to  make  him  consti- 
tutional King  of  Lombardy,  to  the  house  of  an  accomplice 
near  Sarono,  in  the  very  middle  of  that  fair  country. 

More  than  a  score  of  these  very  compromising  papers 
were  either  in  the  prince's  own  hand  or  bore  his  signature, 
and  the  count  intended,  if  Fabrizio's  life  should  be  seriously 
threatened,  to  inform  his  Highness  that  he  was  about  to 
place  these  proofs  in  the  hands  of  a  great  Power  which  could 
crush  him  with  a  word. 

Count  Mosca  thought  himself  sure  of  the  future  Baron 
Riva.  Poison  was  the  only  thing  he  feared.  Barbone's 
attempt  had  greatly  alarmed  him — to  such  a  point,  indeed, 
that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  risk  what  looked  like  an 
act  of  madness.  One  morning  he  drove  to  the  citadel  gate, 
and  sent  for  General  Fabio  Conti,  who  came  down  to  him 
on  the  bastion  above  the  gate.  As  they  walked  up  and 
down  in  friendly  fashion,  the  count  did  not  hesitate  to  say, 
after  a  little  preface,  which,  though  civil  enough,  was  de- 
cidedly bitter-sweet : 

"If  Fabrizio  should  die  in  any  suspicious  manner,  his 
death  may  be  ascribed  to  me,  and  I  should  bear  the  repu- 
tation of  a  jealous  fool.  That  would  make  me  look  utterly 
ridiculous,  a  thing  to  which  I  am  resolved  never  to  sub- 
mit. Therefore,  if  he  should  die  of  any  sickness,  I  shall  kill 
you  with  my  own  hands  to  clear  myself;  of  that  you  may 
be  perfectly  certain." 

General  Fabio  Conti  made  a  very  fine  answer,  and  talked 
big  about  his  courage.  But  he  never  forgot  the  look  the 
count  had  given  him  as  he  spoke. 

A  few  days  later,  and  as  if  he  had  arranged  it  with  the 
count.  Chief- Justice  Rassi  ventured  on  an  imprudence  very 
remarkable  in  such  a  man.  The  public  scorn  which  clung 
to  his  name  and  made  it  a  proverb  with  the  lowest  of  the 
populace,  was  sickening  him,  now  that  he  had  a  reasonable 
hope  of  escaping  it.  He  forwarded  General  Fabio  Conti  an 
official  copy  of  the  sentence  condemning  Fabrizio  to  twelve 
years  in  the  citadel.    Legally  speaking,  this  ought  to  have 

357 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

been  done  the  very  morning  after  Fabrizio  entered  the 
prison.  But  what  was  unheard  of  in  Parma,  that  country 
of  secret  measures,  was  that  the  justiciary  should  have  ven- 
tured on  such  a  step  without  an  express  order  from  the  sov- 
ereign. For  what  hope  could  there  be  of  doubling  the 
duchess's  terrors  every  fortnight,  and  so  breaking  down  her 
haughty  temper,  as  the  prince  expressed  it,  once  an  official 
copy  of  the  sentence  had  passed  out  of  the  office  of  the 
Ministry  of  Justice?  On  the  evening  before  the  day  on 
which  General  Fabio  Conti  received  Chief-Justice  Rassi's 
official  letter  he  was  informed  that  Barbone,  the  clerk,  had 
been  thoroughly  thrashed  on  his  way  back  to  the  citadel, 
rather  late  at  night.  From  this  he  concluded  that  there  was 
no  longer  any  desire  in  high  quarters  to  get  rid  of  Fabrizio, 
and  by  an  instinct  of  prudence  which  saved  Rassi  from  the 
immediate  consequences  of  his  folly,  he  did  not  mention  the 
transmission  of  the  official  copy  of  the  prisoner's  sentence 
at  his  next  audience  with  the  prince.  The  count,  merci- 
fully for  the  poor  duchess's  peace  of  mind,  had  discovered 
that  Barbone's  clumsy  attempt  had  been  inspired  solely  by 
his  own  private  vengeance,  and  it  was  he  who  had  provided 
the  clerk  with  the  warning  to  which  we  have  just  referred. 
It  was  a  pleasant  surprise  for  Fabrizio,  when,  after  a  hun- 
dred and  thirty-five  days  in  his  somewhat  cramped  cage,  Don 
Cesare,  the  worthy  chaplain,  came  one  Thursday  to  take 
him  for  a  walk  on  the  leads  of  the  Farnese  Tower.  Before 
Fabrizio  had  been  there  for  ten  minutes,  the  fresh  air  over- 
came him,  and  he  fainted  away.  Don  Cesare  made  this 
incident  a  pretext  for  allowing  him  half  an  hour's  walk  every 
day.  This  was  a  folly.  The  frequent  outings  soon  restored 
our  hero  to  a  strength  which  he  abused. 

Several  more  serenades  were  given.  The  only  reason 
that  induced  the  punctilious  governor  to  permit  them  was 
that  they  helped  to  bind  his  daughter  Clelia,  whose  character 
alarmed  him,  to  the  Marchese  Crescenzi,  He  had  an  uneasy 
feeling  that  there  was  nothing  in  common  between  himself 
and  his  daughter,  and  lived  in  perpetual  dread  of  some  freak 
on  her  part.  She  might  take  refuge  in  a  convent,  and  then 
he  would  be  helpless.    Otherwise  the  general  had  his  fears 

358 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

that  all  this  music,  the  sound  of  which  must  reach  the  deep- 
est dungeons  reserved  to  the  blackest  Liberals,  might  screen 
the  making  of  signals.  He  was  jealous,  too,  of  the  musicians 
on  their  own  account.  Therefore,  the  moment  the  serenade 
was  over,  they  were  locked  up  in  those  great,  low-ceilinged 
rooms  of  the  governor's  palace  which  were  used  as  offices 
by  his  staff  in  the  daytime,  and  the  doors  were  not  opened 
till  broad  daylight  the  next  morning.  The  governor  him- 
self stood  on  the  "  Bridge  of  the  Slave  "  while  the  men  were 
searched  in  his  presence,  and  never  restored  them  to  Hberty 
without  telling  them,  several  times  over,  that  he  would  in- 
stantly hang  any  man  who  dared  to  undertake  to  carry  the 
most  trifling  message  to  any  prisoner.  It  was  well  known 
that  in  his  terror  of  displeasing  the  prince  he  was  certain 
to  keep  his  word ;  so,  to  overcome  their  horror  of  the  night's 
imprisonment,  Crescenzi  was  obliged  to  pay  his  musicians 
triple  fees.  All  the  duchess  could  wring  out  of  the  cow- 
ardice of  one  of  these  men,  and  this  with  great  difficulty,  was 
that  he  should  carry  a  letter  in,  and  give  it  to  the  governor. 
The  letter  was  addressed  to  Fabrizio,  and  deplored  the  sad 
fact  that  during  the  five  months  he  had  been  in  prison  his 
friends  outside  had  never  been  able  to  establish  the  smallest 
correspondence  with  him. 

When  the  musician  entered  the  citadel  he  cast  himself  at 
General  Fabio  Conti's  feet,  and  confessed  that  a  priest,  a 
stranger  to  him,  had  so  insisted  on  his  taking  charge  of  a 
letter  addressed  to  Sig^or  del  Dongo,  that  he  had  not  ven- 
tured to  refuse,  but  that,  faithful  to  his  duty,  he  now  has- 
tened to  place  it  in  his  Excellency's  hands. 

His  Excellency  was  highly  flattered.  He  know  how 
great  the  duchess's  resources  were,  and  was  terribly  afraid 
of  being  fooled  by  her.  In  his  joy  the  general  carried  the 
letter  to  the  prince,  who  was  equally  delighted. 

"  Then  the  firmness  of  my  government  has  avenged  me 
at  last!  For  five  months  that  haughty  woman  has  been  in 
anguish.  But  one  of  these  days  we  will  build  a  scaffold, 
and  her  wild  imagination  will  not  fail  to  convince  her  it  is 
for  young  Del  Dongo." 

359 


CHAPTER  XX 

One  morning,  toward  one  o'clock,  Fabrizio,  stretched 
upon  his  window-sill,  had  slipped  his  head  through  the  open- 
ing he  had  made  in  the  screen,  and  was  gazing  at  the  stars, 
and  at  the  wide  horizon  visible  from  the  top  of  the  Farnese 
Tower.  As  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  country  lying  to- 
ward the  lower  Po  and  Ferrara,  they  chanced  to  notice  a 
very  small,  but  exceedingly  bright,  light,  seemingly  placed 
on  the  top  of  a  tower.  "  That  light  can  not  be  visible 
from  the  plain,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself.  "  The  thickness 
of  the  tower  would  prevent  any  one  from  seeing  it  from 
below.  It  must  be  a  signal  to  some  distant  point."  All  at 
once  he  remarked  that  this  light  appeared  and  disappeared 
at  very  close  intervals.  "  It  must  be  some  young  girl  sig- 
nalling to  her  lover  in  the  next  village."  He  counted  nine 
successive  flashes.  "  That's  an  *  I,'  "  said  he,  "  and  certainly 
*  I '  is  the  ninth  letter  in  the  alphabet."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
there  came  fourteen  flashes.  "  That's  an  *  N.'  "  Then,  after 
another  pause,  there  came  a  single  flash.  "  That's  an  *  A  ' ; 
the  word  is  '  Ina.*  " 

What  were  his  joy  and  astonishment  when  he  realized 
that  these  successive  flashes,  punctuated  by  short  pauses, 
made  up  the  following  words : 

"  Ina  pensa  a  te" 

which  evidently  meant,  "  Gina  is  thinking  of  thee." 

Instantly  he  replied  by  successive  displays  of  his  own 
lamp  through  the  aperture  in  his  shutter: 

"  Fabrisio  loves  thee." 

This  correspondence  was  kept  up  till  daylight.  It  was 
the  hundred  and  seventy-third  night  of  his  captivity,  and 
these  signals,  he  was  informed,  had  been  made  every  night 

360 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

for  four  months.  But  any  one  might  notice  and  understand 
the  signs;  that  very  night  a  system  of  abbreviations  was 
agreed  upon.  A  series  of  three  rapid  flashes  was  to  stand  for 
the  duchess,  four  for  the  prince,  two  for  Count  Mosca.  Two 
quick  flashes,  followed  by  two  slow  ones,  was  to  mean 
"  escape."  It  was  settled  that  for  the  future  they  would  use 
the  ancient  alphabet  "  alia  monaca,"  which,  to  baffle  indis- 
creet curiosity,  alters  the  usual  position  of  the  letters  in  the 
alphabet,  and  gives  them  others  of  its  own  devising.  Thus, 
"  A  "  becomes  the  tenth  letter,  and  "  B  "  the  third ;  so  that 
three  successive  eclipses  of  the  lamp  stand  for  "  B,"  ten  for 
"  A,"  and  so  forth.  The  words  were  separated  by  a  short 
interval  of  darkness.  A  meeting  was  arranged  for  an  hour 
after  the  following  midnight,  and  that  next  night  the  duchess 
came  to  the  tower,  which  stood  about  a  quarter  of  a  league 
from  the  town.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  when  she  beheld 
signals  made  by  Fabrizio,  whom  she  had  so  often  given  up 
for  dead.  She  signalled  to  him  herself,  with  the  lamp :  "  I 
love  you!  Courage!  health!  hope!  Use  your  muscles  in 
your  room;  you  will  want  all  the  strength  of  your  arms." 

"  I  have  not  seen  him,"  thought  the  duchess  to  herself, 
"  since  that  concert  when  the  Fausta  sang,  and  he  appeared 
at  my  drawing-room  door  dressed  as  a  footman.  Who  could 
have  dreamed,  then,  of  the  fate  that  was  awaiting  us !  "  The 
duchess  apprised  Fabrizio  by  signal  that  he  would  soon 
be  rescued,  "  thanks  to  the  goodness  of  the  prince  "  (there 
was  always  a  chance  that  the  signals  might  be  read).  Then 
she  began  to  say  all  sorts  of  tender  things;  she  could  not 
tear  herself  away  from  him.  Nothing  but  the  entreaties  of 
Ludovico,  whom  she  had  made  her  confidential  servant,  be- 
cause he  had  been  useful  to  Fabrizio,  could  induce  her  to 
discontinue  the  signals,  even  close  upon  daybreak,  when 
they  might  possibly  attract  the  attention  of  some  evil-dis- 
posed person.  This  reiterated  assurance  of  his  approaching 
deliverance  threw  Fabrizio  into  the  deepest  melancholy. 
Clelia  remarked  this  next  morning,  and  was  imprudent 
enough  to  inquire  its  cause. 

"  I  see  I  am  on  the  point  of  giving  the  duchess  serious 
cause  for  displeasure." 

361 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  And  what  can  she  possibly  ask  of  you  that  you  could 
refuse  ?  "  exclaimed  Clelia,  pricked  by  the  most  eager  curi- 
osity. 

"  She  wants  me  to  leave  this  place,"  he  replied,  "  and 
that  is  what  I  will  never  consent  to  do." 

Clelia  could  not  answer;  she  looked  up  at  him,  and 
burst  into  tears.  If  he  could  have  spoken  to  her  then  at 
close  quarters  he  might  perhaps  have  induced  her  to  confess 
feelings,  his  uncertainty  concerning  which  often  cast  him 
into  the  deepest  sadness.  He  was  keenly  conscious  that  for 
him  life  without  Clelia's  love  could  only  be  a  succession  of 
bitter  sorrows,  or  one  long  unbearable  weariness.  Life  did 
not  appear  worth  living  if  he  was  only  to  go  back  to  those 
pleasures  which  had  seemed  to  interest  him  before  he  had 
known  what  love  really  was,  and  although  suicide  has  not 
yet  become  the  fashion  in  Italy,  he  had  thought  of  it  as 
a  final  refuge,  should  fate  part  him  from  Clelia. 

The  next  day  he  received  a  long  letter  from  her. 

"  It  is  necessary,  my  friend,  that  you  should  know  the 
truth.  Very  often,  since  you  have  been  shut  up  here,  the 
whole  town  of  Parma  has  believed  your  last  hour  had  come. 

"  It  is  true  that  you  are  only  sentenced  to  twelve  years 
in  the  fortress,  but  it  is  an  undoubted  fact,  unhappily,  that 
an  all-powerful  hate  pursues  you,  and  twenty  times  I  have 
trembled  at  the  thought  that  your  days  might  be  ended  by 
poison.  You  must,  therefore,  snatch  at  every  possible  means 
of  escape.  You  see  that  for  your  sake  I  fail  in  my  most 
sacred  duties.  You  may  judge  how  imminent  your  danger  is, 
by  the  things  I  dare  to  tell  you,  and  which  are  so  unfit  for 
me  to  say.  If  it  be  absolutely  necessary,  if  you  can  find  no 
other  means  of  safety,  you  must  fly.  Every  instant  you 
spend  within  this  fortress  may  place  your  life  in  greater 
peril.  Remember  that  there  is  a  party  at  court  which  has 
never  allowed  its  plans  to  be  checked  by  any  likelihood  of 
crime.  And  do  you  not  perceive  that  all  the  plans  of  that 
party  are  constantly  foiled  by  Count  Mosca's  superior  cun- 
ning? Certain  means  have  now  been  devised  to  insure  his 
banishment  from  Parma.  This  throws  the  duchess  into  de- 
spair.   And  does  not  her  despair  become  a  certainty,  if  the 

362 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

young  prisoner  is  put  to  death?  This  one  fact,  which  is 
unanswerable,  will  enable  you  to  gauge  your  own  position. 
You  say  you  feel  affection  for  me.  Think,  in  the  first  place, 
that  insurmountable  obstacles  must  prevent  this  feeling  from 
ever  becoming  a  solid  one  between  us.  We  shall  have  met 
each  other  in  our  youth;  we  shall  have  held  out  friendly 
hands  to  one  another,  in  a  moment  of  misfortune.  Fate 
will  have  sent  me  to  this  stern  place  to  soften  your  suffer- 
ing, but  I  should  reproach  myself  eternally  if  fancies  which 
have  not,  and  never  will  have,  any  true  foundation,  led  you 
to  neglect  any  possible  opportunity  of  saving  your  life  from 
such  a  frightful  peril.  The  cruel  imprudence  I  committed 
when  I  exchanged  some  friendly  signs  with  you,  has  cost 
me  my  peace  of  mind.  If  our  childish  games  with  alphabets 
have  filled  you  with  illusions  so  unjustifiable,  and  which  may 
be  so  fatal  to  you,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  justify  myself  in 
my  own  eyes,  by  recalling  Barbone's  attempt  upon  you  to 
my  memory.  I  myself,  even  when  I  thought  I  was  saving 
you  from  a  momentary  danger,  shall  have  placed  you  in 
far  more  terrible  and  far  more  inevitable  peril,  and  never, 
to  all  eternity,  can  my  wrongdoing  gain  pardon,  if  it  has 
inspired  you  with  feelings  which  might  lead  you  to  neglect 
the  counsels  of  the  duchess.  This,  then,  is  what  you  force 
me  to  reiterate  :  Save  yourself !    I  command  you !  " 

The  letter  was  a  very  long  one.  Some  passages,  such  as 
that  "  I  command  you,"  which  we  have  just  quoted,  were 
full  of  an  exquisite  encouragement  to  Fabrizio's  love.  The 
actual  feeling  of  the  letter  struck  him  as  being  fairly  tender, 
although  its  expression  was  remarkably  prudent.  At  other 
moments  he  paid  the  penalty  of  his  complete  ignorance  of 
this  kind  of  warfare,  and  saw  nothing  but  ordinary  friend- 
ship, or  even  the  most  commonplace  humanity,  in  Clelia's 
letter.  None  of  its  contents,  however,  shook  his  resolve  for 
a  single  instant.  Supposing  all  the  dangers  she  described 
to  be  very  real,  was  it  anything  too  much  to  purchase  the 
daily  joy  of  seeing  her  by  facing  some  momentary  risk? 
What  would  his  life  be  if  he  were  to  find  refuge,  once  more, 
at  Bologna  or  Florence  ?  For  if  he  should  escape  from  the 
citadel,  he  could  never  hope  for  leave  to  reside  anywhere 

363 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

within  the  state  of  Parma.  And  if  the  prince  altered  his 
views  so  far  as  to  set  him  at  liberty — a  very  unlikely  con- 
tingency, seeing  he,  Fabrizio,  had  become,  to  a  powerful 
faction,  a  useful  element  for  the  overthrow  of  Count  Mosca 
— what  would  life  be,  even  at  Parma,  parted  from  Clelia 
by  the  bitter  hatred  of  the  two  parties  ?  Once  or  twice  in  a 
month,  perhaps,  chance  might  bring  them  both  into  the 
same  drawing-room.  But  even  then,  what  could  the  nature 
of  their  conversation  be?  How  were  they  ever  to  recover 
the  tone  of  absolute  intimacy  he  now  enjoyed  for  several 
hours  every  day?  What  would  their  drawing-room  talk  be 
like,  compared  with  the  intercourse  they  kept  up  through 
their  alphabets  ?  "  What  matter  if  I  have  to  pay  for  this 
life  of  delights,  this  unique  chance  of  happiness,  by  taking 
some  trifling  risks?  And  is  it  not  happiness,  again,  to  find 
this  poor  opportunity  of  proving  my  love  to  her  ?  " 

Fabrizio's  only  view  of  Clelia's  letter,  then,  was  that  it 
gave  him  an  excuse  for  craving  an  interview  with  her.  This 
was  the  one  and  constant  object  of  all  his  longing.  He  had 
never  spoken  to  her  but  once,  and  only  for  an  instant,  just  as 
he  was  being  led  to  his  prison.  And  that  was  more  than 
two  hundred  days  ago.  There  was  a  method  by  which  a 
meeting  with  Clelia  might  be  easily  arranged.  The  worthy 
Don  Cesare  allowed  Fabrizio  to  walk  for  half  an  hour  every 
Thursday,  in  the  daytime,  on  the  terrace  of  the  Farnese 
Tower.  But  on  the  other  days  his  exercise,  which  might 
have  been  observed  by  all  the  dwellers  in  and  around  Parma, 
and  thus  seriously  compromised  the  governor,  was  taken 
after  nightfall.  The  only  staircase  by  which  the  terrace  of 
the  Farnese  Tower  could  be  reached  was  that  in  the  little 
bell  tower  of  the  chapel,  with  its  gloomy  black  and  white 
marble  decorations,  of  which  my  reader  may  retain  some 
recollection.  Grillo  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  Fabrizio  into 
the  chapel  and  opening  the  door  leading  to  the  little  stair- 
case in  the  tower  for  him  to  pass  up  it.  He  ought  to  have 
followed  him,  but  the  evenings  were  growing  chilly,  and  the 
jailer  allowed  him  to  go  up  alone,  turned  the  key  upon  the 
tower,  which  communicated  with  the  terrace,  and  went  back 
to  sit  in  his  warm  room.    Well,  why  should  not  Clelia  and 

364 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

her  waiting-woman  meet  him,  some  night,  in  the  black 
marble  chapel? 

All  Fabrizio's  long  letter  in  answer  to  Clelia's  was  writ- 
ten with  the  object  of  obtaining  this  interview.  And  fur- 
ther, with  the  most  absolute  sincerity,  and  as  though  he 
had  been  speaking  of  another  person,  he  confided  to  her  all 
the  reasons  which  made  him  resolve  not  to  leave  the  citadel. 

"  I  would  risk  a  thousand  deaths,  every  day,  for  the 
happiness  of  talking  to  you  with  our  alphabets,  which  do 
not  now  give  us  a  moment's  difficulty.  And  you  would  have 
me  commit  the  blunder  of  banishing  myself  to  Parma,  or 
perhaps  to  Bologna,  or  even  to  Florence!  You  expect  me 
deliberately  to  remove  myself  farther  away  from  you.  Such 
an  effort,  let  me  tell  you,  is  impossible  to  me.  It  would 
be  vain  for  me  to  give  you  my  word.    I  could  not  keep  it." 

The  result  of  this  plea  for  a  meeting  was  a  disappear- 
ance on  CleHa's  part,  which  lasted  no  less  than  five  days. 
For  five  whole  days  she  never  came  near  the  aviary,  except 
when  she  knew  Fabrizio  would  not  be  able  to  open  the 
little  shutter  in  his  screen.  Fabrizio  was  in  despair.  This 
absence  convinced  him  that,  in  spite  of  some  glances  which 
had  filled  him  with  foolish  hopes,  he  had  never  really  in- 
spired Clelia  with  any  warmer  feeling  than  one  of  friendship. 
"  In  that  case,"  thought  he,  "  of  what  value  is  my  life  to 
me?  Let  the  prince  rid  me  of  it.  I  shall  be  grateful  to 
him.  That  is  another  reason  for  my  staying  in  the  fortress." 
And  it  was  with  a  sense  of  deep  disgust  that  he  replied  to 
the  signals  flashed  by  the  little  lamp.  The  duchess  was 
convinced  he  had  gone  quite  crazy  when,  in  the  report  of 
the  signalled  conversations  which  Ludovico  presented  to  her 
every  morning,  she  read  the  extraordinary  assertion :  "  I 
do  not  desire  to  escape.    I  choose  to  die  here." 

During  those  five  days  of  Fabrizio's  misery,  Clelia  was 
even  more  wretched  than  he.  The  following  idea,  a  very 
bitter  one  to  a  generous  soul,  had  occurred  to  her :  "  It 
is  my  duty  to  flee  to  some  convent  far  from  the  citadel. 
When  Fabrizio  knows  I  am  not  here — and  I  will  take  care 
he  does  know  it,  from  Grillo  and  all  the  other  jailers — he 
will  make  up  his  mind  to  attempt  to  escape."    But  to  go 

365 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

into  a  convent  meant  to  give  up  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  Fa- 
brizio  again.  And  how  could  she  bear  not  to  see  him,  now 
that  he  had  given  her  so  clear  a  proof  that  the  feeling  which 
might  once  have  bound  him  to  the  duchess  no  longer  ex- 
isted? What  more  touching  proof  of  devotion  could  any 
man  have  offered?  After  seven  long  months  of  an  impris- 
onment which  had  seriously  undermined  his  health,  he  re- 
fused to  regain  his  liberty.  A  frivolous  being,  such  as  the 
courtiers  had  given  Clelia  cause  to  believe  Fabrizio  to  be, 
would  have  sacrificed  twenty  mistresses  to  shorten  his  stay 
in  the  fortress  by  one  day,  and  what  would  he  not  have 
done  to  escape  from  a  prison  where  he  might  be  poisoned 
at  any  moment ! 

Clelia's  courage  failed  her ;  she  committed  the  signal  mis- 
take of  not  taking  refuge  in  a  convent,  a  step  which  would 
likewise  have  given  her  a  quite  natural  excuse  for  breaking 
with  the  Marchese  Crescenzi.  Once  this  mistake  was 
made,  how  could  she  stand  out  against  this  young  man,  so 
lovable,  so  natural,  so  devoted,  who  was  exposing  his  life 
to  the  most  frightful  peril,  simply  for  the  sake  of  the  hap- 
piness of  looking  at  her  out  of  his  window  ?  After  five  days 
of  the  most  terrible  struggle,  interspersed  with  fits  of  bitter 
self-scorn,  Clelia  made  up  her  mind  to  answer  the  letter  in 
which  Fabrizio  besought  her  to  grant  him  an  interview  in 
the  black  marble  chapel.  She  refused  the  meeting,  indeed, 
and  in  somewhat  harsh  terms ;  but  from  that  instant  all  her 
peace  of  mind  departed.  Every  moment  her  imagination 
showed  her  Fabrizio  dying  from  the  effects  of  poison ;  six 
or  eight  times  a  day  she  would  go  up  into  the  aviary  to 
satisfy  her  passionate  need  of  seeing  with  her  own  eyes  that 
he  was  alive. 

"  If  he  remains  in  the  fortress,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  if 
he  is  still  exposed  to  all  the  vile  things  that  the  Raversi 
party  is  plotting  against  him,  in  order  to  overthrow  Count 
Mosca,  the  only  reason  is  because  my  cowardice  has  pre- 
vented me  from  going  into  a  convent.  What  pretext  would 
he  have  had  for  remaining  here,  if  he  had  known  for  certain 
that  I  had  gone  forever  ?  " 

This  girl,  with  all  her  sh)Tiess  and  innate  pride,  even 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

faced  the  risk  of  encountering  a  refusal  from  Grillo,  the 
jailer.  She  humbled  herself  to  the  extent  of  sending  for 
him,  and  telling  him,  in  a  voice  the  trembling  tones  of  which 
betrayed  her  secret,  that  in  a  few  days  Fabrizio  would  gain 
his  freedom ;  that  the  Duchess  Sanseverina  was  taking  the 
most  active  steps  with  this  object;  that  it  was  frequently 
necessary  to  obtain  the  prisoner's  instant  reply  to  certain 
proposals  made  to  him,  and  that  she  begged  him,  Grillo,  to 
allow  Fabrizio  to  make  an  opening  in  the  screen  which 
masked  the  window,  so  that  she  might  communicate  to  him, 
by  signs,  the  intelligence  she  was  receiving  several  times  each 
day  from  the  duchess. 

Grillo  smiled,  and  assured  her  of  his  respect  and  obedi- 
ence. Clelia  was  intensely  grateful  to  him  for  saying  noth- 
ing more.  It  was  quite  clear  that  he  was  perfectly  cognizant 
of  everything  that  had  been  going  on  for  some  months. 

Hardly  had  the  jailer  left  her  presence,  when  Clelia  gave 
the  signal  agreed  on  for  summoning  Fabrizio  on  great  oc- 
casions, and  she  confessed  all  she  had  done  to  him.  "  Your 
heart  is  set  on  dying  by  poison,"  she  added,  "  I  hope  to 
gather  courage,  one  of  these  days,  to  leave  my  father,  and 
take  refuge  in  some  distant  convent.  That  will  be  my  duty 
to  you;  and  then,  I  hope,  you  will  not  oppose  the  plans 
which  may  be  suggested  to  enable  you  to  escape.  As  long 
as  you  are  here,  I  must  endure  moments  of  horrible  distress 
and  perplexity.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  done  anything  to 
harm  anybody,  and  now  it  seems  to  me  that  I  shall  be  the 
cause  of  your  death.  Such  an  idea,  even  concerning  a  per- 
son utterly  unknown  to  me,  would  drive  me  to  despair.  Im- 
agine, then,  what  I  feel  at  the  thought  that  a  friend,  whose 
folly  g^ves  me  grave  cause  for  complaint,  but  with  whom, 
after  all,  I  have  had  daily  intercourse  for  so  long  a  time,  may 
at  that  very  moment  be  in  the  throes  of  death.  Now  and 
then  I  feel  that  I  must  make  sure  for  myself  that  you  are 
alive. 

"  To  save  myself  from  this  horrible  anguish  I  have  just 
humbled  myself  so  low  as  to  ask  a  favour  from  an  inferior, 
who  might  have  refused  it,  and  who  may  yet  betray  me. 
After  all,  it  would  be  happier  for  me,  perhaps,  if  he  did 

367 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

denounce  me  to  my  father.  I  should  instantly  go  to  my 
convent,  and  I  should  no  longer  be  the  very  unwilling  ac- 
complice of  your  cruel  folly.  But,  beUeve  me,  this  state  of 
things  can  not  last  long,  and  you  will  obey  your  orders  from 
the  duchess.  Are  you  content,  my  cruel  friend?  It  is  I 
who  beseech  you  to  betray  my  father !  Call  Grillo,  and  give 
him  money !  " 

Fabrizio  was  so  desperately  in  love,  the  slightest  ex- 
pression of  Clelia's  will  filled  him  with  such  dread,  that  even 
this  extraordinary  communication  did  not  make  him  feel 
certain  he  was  beloved.  He  called  Grillo,  rewarded  him 
generously  for  his  past  complaisance,  and  told  him,  as  re- 
garded the  future,  that  for  every  day  on  which  he  allowed 
him  to  make  use  of  the  opening  in  his  screen,  he  would  give 
him  a  sequin.    Grillo  was  delighted  with  this  arrangement. 

"  Monsignore,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to  speak  to  you 
quite  frankly.  Will  you  make  up  your  mind  to  eating  a  cold 
dinner  every  day?  That  is  a  very  simple  method  of  escap- 
ing the  risk  of  poison.  But  I  will  beg  you  to  practise  the 
most  absolute  discretion ;  a  jailer  must  see  everything,  and 
guess  nothing.  Instead  of  one  dog,  I  will  keep  several,  and 
you  yourself  shall  make  them  taste  every  dish  you  intend 
to  eat.  As  for  wine,  I  will  give  you  mine,  and  you  must 
never  touch  any  bottle  except  those  out  of  which  I  have 
drunk.  But  if  your  Excellency  wants  to  ruin  me  forever, 
you  have  only  to  confide  these  matters  even  to  the  Signorina 
Clelia.  All  women  are  alike,  and  if  she  should  quarrel  with 
you  to-morrow,  the  day  after,  in  her  vengeance,  she  will  tell 
the  whole  story  to  her  father,  whose  greatest  joy  would 
be  to  find  some  excuse  for  hanging  a  jailer.  Next  to  Bar- 
bone  himself,  the  general  is  the  most  spiteful  man  in  the 
citadel,  and  there  lies  the  real  danger  of  your  position.  He 
knows  how  to  use  poison,  be  sure  of  that,  and  he  would  not 
forgive  me  if  he  thought  I  was  keeping  two  or  three  little 
dogs." 

There  was  another  serenade. 

Grillo  now  answered  all  Fabrizio's  questions;  he  had 
resolved,  indeed,  that  he  would  be  prudent,  and  not  betray 
the  Signorina  Clelia,  who,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  though 

368 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

just  about  to  marry  the  Marchese  Crescenzi,  the  richest  man 
in  the  state  of  Parma,  was  nevertheless  carrying  on  a  love 
affair,  as  far  as  prison  walls  allowed,  with  the  handsome 
Monsignore  del  Dongo.  He  had  just  been  replying  to 
Fabrizio's  questions  about  the  serenade,  and  blunderingly 
added,  "  He  is  expected  to  marry  her  soon."  The  effect 
of  this  simple  sentence  on  Fabrizio  may  be  imagined.  That 
night,  his  only  response  to  the  lamp  signals  was  to  the  effect 
that  he  was  ill.  The  next  morning,  at  ten  o'clock,  when 
Clelia  appeared  in  the  aviary,  he  asked  her,  with  a  ceremoni- 
ous politeness  quite  unusual  between  them,  why  she  had  not 
frankly  told  him  that  she  loved  the  Marchese  Crescenzi,  and 
was  just  about  to  marry  him. 

"  Because  none  of  all  that  is  t^ue,"  she  answered  petu- 
lantly. The  rest  of  her  reply,  indeed,  was  not  so  explicit. 
Fabrizio  pointed  this  out  to  her,  and  took  advantage  of  the 
occasion  to  make  a  fresh  request  for  an  interview.  Clelia, 
who  saw  her  good  faith  called  in  question,  agreed  almost  at 
once,  begging  him,  at  the  same  time,  to  note  that  she  would 
be  dishonoured  forever  in  the  eyes  of  Grillo. 

That  evening,  when  it  had  grown  quite  dark,  she  ap« 
peared,  with  her  waiting-woman,  in  the  black  marble  chapel. 
She  stopped  in  the  middle,  close  by  the  night  lamp.  Grillo 
and  the  waiting-maid  turned  back,  and  stood  about  thirty 
paces  off,  near  the  door.  Clelia,  shaking  with  emotion,  had 
made  ready  a  fine  speech;  her  object  was  not  to  let  any 
compromising  confession  escape  her.  But  the  logic  of  pas- 
sion is  very  merciless;  its  deep  interest  in  discovering  the 
truth  forbids  the  employment  of  useless  precautions,  and 
its  intense  devotion  to  its  object  deprives  it  of  all  fear  of  giv- 
ing offence.  At  first  Fabrizio  was  dazzled  by  Clelia's 
beauty.  For  over  eight  months  he  had  not  looked  so  closely 
at  any  human  being  save  his  jailers,  but  the  name  of  the 
Marchese  Crescenzi  brought  back  all  his  fury,  and  this  was 
increased  when  he  clearly  perceived  Clelia's  answers  to  be 
full  of  a  prudent  discretion.  Clelia  herself  recognised  that 
she  was  increasing  his  suspicions,  instead  of  dispelling  them. 
The  painfulness  of  the  thought  was  more  than  she  could 
endure. 

369 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Would  it  make  you  very  happy,"  she  said,  with  a  sort 
of  rage,  and  with  tears  standing  in  her  eyes,  "  to  think  you 
have  made  me  forget  everything  I  owe  to  myself  ?  Until  the 
third  of  August  last  year,  I  never  felt  anything  but  distaste 
for  the  men  who  sought  to  please  me.  I  had  a  boundless 
and  probably  exaggerated  scorn  for  the  character  of  all 
courtiers ;  everybody  who  was  happy  at  court  disgusted  me. 
But  I  noticed  remarkable  qualities  in  a  prisoner  who  was 
brought  to  the  citadel  on  the  third  of  August.  First  of  all, 
and  almost  unconsciously,  I  endured  all  the  torments  of  jeal- 
ousy. The  charms  of  an  exquisite  woman,  whom  I  knew 
well,  were  so  many  dagger  thrusts  in  my  heart,  because  I 
believed,  and  I  still  believe  it  a  little,  that  this  prisoner  was 
attached  to  her.  Soon  the  persecutions  of  the  Marchese 
Crescenzi,  who  had  asked  my  father  for  my  hand,  increased 
twofold.  He  is  a  very  rich  man,  and  we  have  no  fortune  at 
all.  I  refused  his  advances  with  the  most  absolute  inde- 
pendence. But  my  father  pronounced  the  fatal  word,  *  a 
convent,'  and  I  realized  that  if  I  left  the  citadel,  I  should 
not  be  able  to  watch  over  the  life  of  the  prisoner  in  whose 
fate  I  was  interested.  Until  that  moment,  the  chief  object  of 
my  care  had  been  to  prevent  his  having  the  smallest  sus- 
picion of  the  terrible  dangers  which  threatened  his  life. 

"  I  had  been  quite  resolved  never  to  betray  either  my 
father  or  my  secret,  but  the  woman  who  protects  this  pris- 
oner, a  woman  of  the  most  splendid  activity,  a  woman  of 
superior  intelligence  and  indomitable  will,  offered  him,  as 
I  believe,  the  means  of  escape.  He  refused  them,  and  en- 
deavoured to  persuade  me  he  would  not  leave  the  citadel 
because  he  would  not  leave  me.  Then  I  committed  a  great 
fault.  I  struggled  for  five  days ;  I  ought  instantly  to  have 
betaken  myself  to  a  convent,  and  left  the  fortress.  That  step 
would  have  provided  me  with  a  very  easy  method  of  break- 
ing with  the  Marchese  Crescenzi.  I  had  not  courage  to 
leave  the  fortress,  and  I  am  a  ruined  girl.  I  have  set  my 
affections  on  a  fickle  man.  I  know  what  his  conduct  was 
at  Naples,  and  what  reason  have  I  to  suppose  his  nature 
has  changed?  During  a  very  severe  imprisonment  he  has 
paid  court  to  the  only  woman  he  could  see;  she  has  been 

370 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

an  amusement  to  him  in  his  boredom.  As  he  could  not 
speak  to  her  without  a  certain  amount  of  difficulty,  this 
amusement  has  taken  on  a  false  appearance  of  passion.  The 
prisoner,  who  has  made  himself  a  reputation  for  courage,  has 
taken  it  into  his  head  to  prove  that  his  love  is  more  than  a 
mere  passing  fancy  by  risking  considerable  danger,  so  as 
to  continue  seeing  the  person  whom  he  believes  he  loves. 
But  once  he  is  back  in  a  great  city,  and  surrounded  by  all 
the  temptations  of  society,  he  will  again  be  that  which  he 
has  always  been — a  man  of  the  world,  addicted  to  dissipa- 
tion and  gallantry;  and  the  poor  companion  of  his  prison 
will  end  her  days  in  a  convent,  forgotten  by  this  fickle  being, 
and  weighed  down  with  the  deadly  regret  of  having  con- 
fessed her  love  to  him." 

This  historic  speech,  of  which  we  have  only  indicated  the 
principal  features,  was,  as  may  well  be  imagfined,  broken 
twenty  times  by  Fabrizio's  interruptions.  He  was  desper- 
ately in  love,  and  he  was  perfectly  convinced  that  before 
meeting  Clelia  he  had  never  known  what  love  was,  and  that 
the  destiny  of  his  whole  life  was  bound  up  with  her  alone. 

My  reader  will  doubtless  imagine  all  the  fine  things  he 
was  pouring  out  when  the  waiting-woman  warned  her  mis- 
tress that  the  clock  had  just  struck  half-past  eleven,  and  that 
the  general  might  be  coming  in  at  any  moment.  The  part- 
ing was  a  cruel  one. 

"  Perhaps  this  is  the  last  time  I  shall  ever  see  you,"  said 
Clelia  to  the  prisoner.  "  A  measure  which  is  so  evidently 
to  the  interest  of  the  Raversi  cabal  may  give  you  a  terrible 
opportunity  for  proving  that  you  are  not  inconstant." 
Choking  with  sobs,  and  overcome  with  shame  because  she 
could  not  altogether  stifle  them  in  the  presence  of  her  maid, 
and  more  especially  of  the  jailer,  Clelia  parted  with  Fabrizio. 
No  second  conversation  would  be  possible  until  the  gen- 
eral gave  out  that  he  was  going  to  spend  an  evening  in 
society.  And  as,  since  Fabrizio's  imprisonment,  and  the 
interest  it  inspired  among  the  curious  courtiers,  he  had 
thought  it  prudent  to  suffer  from  an  almost  unintermitting  fit 
of  the  gout,  his  expeditions  into  the  town,  which  were 
directed  by  the  necessities  of  a  cunning  policy,  were  fre- 

371 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

quently  not  decided  upon  till  just  before  he  stepped  into  his 
carriage. 

After  that  evening  in  the  marble  chapel,  Fabrizio's  life 
was  one  succession  of  transports  of  joy.  Great  obstacles, 
indeed,  still  stood  between  him  and  his  happiness,  but  at 
all  events  he  had  the  supreme  and  unlooked-for  bliss  of 
being  loved  by  the  divine  creature  on  whom  his  thoughts 
unceasingly  dwelt.  On  the  third  day  after  the  interview 
the  lamp  signals  ended  very  early,  close  upon  midnight,  and 
just  at  that  moment  Fabrizio's  head  was  very  nearly  broken 
by  a  large  leaden  ball  which  was  thrown  over  the  upper  part 
of  his  window  screen,  came  crashing  through  the  paper 
panes,  and  fell  into  his  room. 

This  very  bulky  ball  was  by  no  means  as  heavy  as  its 
size  gave  reason  to  suppose.  Fabrizio  opened  it  with  ease, 
and  within  it  he  found  a  letter  from  the  duchess. 

Through  the  archbishop,  whom  she  sedulously  flattered, 
she  had  won  over  a  soldier  belonging  to  the  citadel  garrison. 
This  man,  who  was  most  skilful  in  the  use  of  the  catapult, 
had  either  fooled  the  sentries  placed  at  the  corners  and  on 
the  door  of  the  governor's  palace,  or  had  come  to  an  under- 
standing with  them. 

"  You  must  save  yourself  with  ropes.  I  shudder  as  I 
give  you  this  strange  counsel.  For  a  whole  month  I  have 
shrunk  from  speaking  the  words.  But  the  official  horizon 
grows  darker  every  day,  and  we  may  expect  the  worst.  You 
must  instantly  begin  to  signal  with  your  lamp,  so  that  we 
may  know  you  have  received  this  dangerous  letter.  Show 
'  P,*  *  B,'  and  *  G,'  alia  monaca — that  is  to  say,  four,  twelve, 
and  two.  I  shall  not  breathe  freely  until  I  have  seen  this 
signal.  I  am  on  the  tower,  and  will  answer  by  '  N  '  and  '  O,' 
*  seven  '  and  '  five.'  Once  you  have  received  this  answer,  do 
not  signal  any  more,  and  apply  your  whole  mind  to  under- 
standing my  letter." 

Fabrizio  instantly  obeyed,  made  the  signals  indicated^ 
and  received  the  promised  response.  Then  he  resumed  his 
perusal  of  the  letter. 

"  We  may  expect  the  very  worst.  This  has  been  affirmed 
to  me  by  the  three  men  in  whom  I  have  most  confidence, 

372 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

after  I  had  made  them  swear  on  the  Gospels  to  tell  me  the 
truth,  whatever  agony  it  might  cost  me.  The  first  of  these 
men  threatened  the  surgeon  at  Ferrara,  who  would  have  de- 
nounced you,  that  he  would  fall  upon  him  with  an  open  knife 
in  his  hand ;  the  second  told  you,  when  you  returned  from 
Belgirate,  that  you  would  have  been  more  strictly  prudent 
if  you  had  put  a  pistol  shot  into  the  man-servant  who  rode 
singing  through  the  wood,  leading  a  fine  horse,  rather  too 
lean.  The  third  man  is  unknown  to  you ;  he  is  a  highway 
robber  of  my  acquaintance,  a  man  of  action,  if  ever  there 
was  one,  and  as  brave  as  you  are  yourself.  That  reason, 
above  all  others,  induced  me  to  ask  him  what  you  had  better 
do.  All  three,  without  knowing  that  I  had  consulted  the 
other  two,  have  assured  me  you  had  far  better  run  the  risk 
of  breaking  your  neck  than  spend  another  eleven  years 
and  four  months  in  perpetual  fear  of  a  very  likely  dose  of 
poison. 

"  For  a  month  you  must  practise  climbing  up  and  down 
a  knotted  rope  in  your  own  room.  Then,  on  a  feast  day, 
when  the  garrison  of  the  citadel  will  have  received  an  extra 
ration  of  wine,  you  will  make  your  great  effort.  You  will 
have  three  ropes  of  silk  and  hemp,  as  thick  as  a  swan's 
quill.  The  first,  eighty  feet  long,  to  carry  you  down  the 
thirty-five  feet  from  your  window  to  the  orange  grove ;  the 
second,  of  three  hundred  feet — there  the  difficulty  comes  in, 
on  account  of  the  weight — to  carry  you  down  the  hundred 
and  eighty  feet  of  the  great  tower;  and  a  third,  of  thirty 
feet,  to  take  you  over  the  rampart.  I  spend  my  whole  life 
studying  the  great  wall  on  the  east — that  is,  on  the  Ferrara 
side;  a  crack  caused  by  an  earthquake  has  been  filled  up 
by  means  of  a  buttress  which  forms  an  inclined  plane.  My 
highway  robber  assures  me  he  would  undertake  to  get  down 
on  that  side,  without  too  much  difficulty,  and  with  no  dam- 
age beyond  a  few  grazes,  simply  by  letting  himself  slip  down 
the  slope  of  this  buttress.  There  are  only  twenty-eight  feet 
of  vertical  drop  quite  at  the  bottom ;  this  side  of  the  citadel 
is  the  least  well  guarded. 

"  Nevertheless,  taking  it  altogether,  my  robber — who 
has  escaped  from  prison  three  times  over,  and  whom  you 

373 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

would  like  if  you  knew  him,  although  he  hates  all  men  of 
your  caste — my  highway  robber,  I  say,  who  is  as  active 
and  nimble  as  you  are  yourself,  thinks  he  would  rather  make 
the  descent  on  the  western  side,  exactly  opposite  that  little 
palace  which  you  know  so  well  as  having  once  been  occu- 
pied by  the  Fausta.  What  makes  him  inclined  to  choose 
that  side  is  that,  though  the  slope  of  the  wall  is  very  slight, 
it  is  almost  entirely  covered  with  briers.  There  are  plenty 
of  twigs  as  thick  as  one's  little  finger,  which  may  indeed 
scratch  and  tear  you  if  you  are  not  careful,  but  which  also 
supply  an  excellent  hold.  Only  this  morning  I  was  look- 
ing at  this  western  side,  through  an  excellent  glass.  The 
place  to  choose  is  just  below  a  point  where  a  new  stone  was 
inserted  in  the  balustrade,  about  two  or  three  years  ago. 
From  this  stone  downward  you  will  first  of  all  find  a  bare 
space  of  about  twenty  feet.  Down  that  you  must  move  very 
slowly  (you  may  imagine  how  my  heart  trembles  as  I  write 
these  horrible  instructions,  but  courage  consists  in  know- 
ing how  to  choose  the  lesser  evil,  however  terrible  that 
may  be) ;  after  this  bare  space  you  will  find  eighty  or  ninety 
feet  covered  with  very  large  brambles  and  bushes,  in  which 
the  birds  fly  about ;  then  a  space  of  about  thirty  feet,  with 
nothing  on  it  but  grass,  wall-flowers,  and  pellitories ;  and  at 
last,  as  you  get  closer  to  the  ground,  twenty  feet  more  of 
brambles,  and  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  which  have 
been  lately  plastered. 

"  What  would  make  me  choose  this  side  is  that  exactly 
below  that  new  stone  on  the  upper  balustrade  there  stands 
a  wooden  hut,  built  by  one  of  the  soldiers,  in  his  garden,  and 
which  the  captain  of  engineers  attached  to  the  fortress  is 
anxious  to  make  him  pull  down.  It  is  seventeen  feet  high, 
with  a  thatched  roof,  and  the  roof  touches  the  main  wall  of 
the  fortress.  It  is  this  roof  which  tempts  me.  If  such  a 
dreadful  thing  as  an  accident  should  happen  it  would  break 
your  fall.  Once  you  get  there  you  will  be  within  the  ram- 
parts, but  these  are  rather  carelessly  guarded.  If  any  one 
should  stop  you  there,  fire  off  your  pistols,  and  defend  your- 
self for  a  few  minutes.  Your  friend  from  Ferrara  and  an- 
other brave  man,  he  whom  I  call  the  highway  robber,  will 

374 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

be  provided  with  ladders,  and  will  not  hesitate  to  scale  the 
rampart,  which  is  not  very  high,  and  to  fly  to  your  help. 

"  The  rampart  is  only  twenty-three  feet  high,  with  a 
very  gradual  slope.  I  shall  be  at  the  foot  of  this  last  wall, 
with  a  good  number  of  armed  servants. 

"  I  hope  to  be  able  to  send  you  five  or  six  letters  by  the 
same  hand  which  brings  you  this  one.  I  shall  constantly  re- 
iterate the  same  things  in  different  terms,  so  that  we  may 
be  thoroughly  agreed.  You  will  guess  what  I  feel  when  I 
tell  you  that  the  man  who  would  have  had  you  fire  your 
pistol  at  the  man-servant — who  is,  after  all,  the  kindest  of  be- 
ings and  is  half  killing  himself  with  remorse — thinks  you 
will  escape  with  a  broken  arm.  The  highway  robber,  who 
has  more  experience  in  such  expeditions,  thinks  that  if 
you  will  come  down  very  slowly,  and  above  all,  without 
hurrying  yourself,  your  liberty  should  not  cost  you  more 
than  a  few  raw  places.  The  great  difficulty  is  to  get  the 
ropes,  and  that  has  been  the  one  object  of  my  thoughts 
during  the  fortnight  for  which  this  great  plan  has  occupied 
every  instant  of  my  time. 

"  I  do  not  reply  to  that  piece  of  madness,  the  only  foolish 
thing  you  ever  said  in  your  life,  *  I  do  not  desire  to  escape.' 
The  man  who  would  have  had  you  shoot  the  man-servant 
exclaimed  at  once  that  the  dulness  of  your  life  had  driven 
you  crazy.  I  will  not  conceal  from  you  that  we  dread  a 
very  imminent  danger,  which  may  perhaps  hasten  the  day 
of  your  flight.  To  warn  you  of  that  danger,  the  lamp  will 
signal  several  times  over: 

"  *  The  castle  is  on  fire.* 

"  You  will  answer : 

"  'Are  my  books  burned f ' " 

There  were  five  or  six  more  pages  in  this  letter,  all 
crammed  with  details.  They  were  written  in  microscopic 
characters,  on  very  thin  paper. 

"  All  that  is  very  fine,  and  very  well  arranged,"  said 
Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  and  I  owe  eternal  gratitude  both  to 

375 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  duchess  and  to  the  count.  Perhaps  they  will  think 
I  am  afraid,  but  I  will  not  escape.  Did  any  man  ever  escape 
from  a  place  where  he  is  perfectly  happy  in  order  to  cast 
himself  into  the  most  hideous  banishment,  where  he  will  find 
nothing,  not  even  air  that  he  can  breathe?  What  should  I 
do  at  the  end  of  the  first  month,  if  I  were  at  Florence?  I 
should  put  on  a  disguise  and  come  and  hover  round  the 
gate  of  this  fortress  to  try  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her." 

The  next  morning  Fabrizio  had  a  fright.  He  was  stand- 
ing at  his  window,  toward  eleven  o'clock,  looking  out  at  the 
magnificent  view  and  waiting  for  the  happy  moment  when 
Clelia  would  appear,  when  Grillo,  quite  out  of  breath,  bus- 
tled into  his  room. 

"  Quick,  quick,  monsignore !  Throw  yourself  on  your 
bed — pretend  to  be  ill.  Three  judges  are  coming  up ;  they 
are  going  to  question  you.  Think  well  before  you  speak ; 
they  have  come  here  to  entangle  you."  As  Grillo  spoke  the 
words  he  was  hastily  shutting  up  the  little  trap-door  in  the 
screen.  He  thrust  Fabrizio  on  to  his  bed,  and  threw  two 
or  three  cloaks  over  him. 

"  Say  you  are  in  great  psin,  and  speak  as  little  as  you 
can.  Above  all  things,  make  them  repeat  their  questions, 
so  as  to  give  yourself  time  to  think." 

The  three  judges  entered  the  room.  "  Three  escaped 
convicts,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  as  he  noted  their  vile 
countenances,  "  not  three  judges  at  all."  They  wore  long 
black  gowns;  they  bowed  to  him  solemnly,  and  sat  them- 
selves down  without  a  word,  in  the  only  three  chairs  the 
apartment  contained. 

"  Signor  Fabrizio  del  Dongo,"  quoth  the  senior  of  the 
three.  "  We  are  distressed  by  the  sadness  of  the  duty  we 
are  here  to  fulfil.  We  have  come  to  inform  you  of  the  death 
of  His  Excellency,  the  Marchese  del  Dongo,  your  father,  late 
Grand  Steward,  Major-Domo  of  the  Lombardo-Venetian 

Kingdom,  Knight  Grand  Cross  of  the  Orders  of ,  and 

so  forth."    Fabrizio  burst  into  tears.    The  judge  proceeded : 

"  The  Marchesa  del  Dongo,  your  mother,  has  sent  you 
a  letter  communicating  this  news,  but  as  she  has  added 
improper  remarks  of  her  own  to  her  announcement,  the 

376 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

court  of  justice  yesterday  decided  that  you  were  only  to  be 
given  extracts  from  her  letter,  and  these  extracts  will  now 
be  read  to  you  by  Registrar  Bona." 

When  the  passages  had  been  read  out  by  this  function- 
ary, the  judge  came  over  to  Fabrizio,  who  was  still  lying  on 
his  bed,  and  pointed  out  the  paragraphs  in  his  mother's  let- 
ter, copies  of  which  had  just  been  read  to  him.  In  the  letter 
Fabrizio  caught  sight  of  such  phrases  as  "  unjust  imprison- 
ment," "  cruel  punishment  for  a  crime  that  is  no  crime," 
and  understood  the  motive  of  the  judge's  visit.  Neverthe- 
less, in  his  scorn  for  these  unworthy  magistrates,  he  said 
nothing  at  all  to  them,  except  these  words :  "  I  am  ill,  gen- 
tlemen; I  am  half  dead  with  weakness,  and  you  must  ex- 
cuse my  not  getting  up." 

The  judges  departed,  and  Fabrizio  shed  many  more 
tears.  At  last  he  questioned  with  himself :  "  Am  I  a  hypo- 
crite ?    I  used  to  think  I  did  not  care  for  him." 

On  that  day,  and  those  following  it,  Clelia  was  very  sad. 
She  called  him  several  times  over,  but  she  had  hardly  courage 
to  say  anything  to  him.  On  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day 
from  that  of  their  first  interview,  she  told  him  she  was  coming 
to  the  marble  chapel  that  night. 

"  I  can  only  say  a  few  words  to  you,"  she  said  as  she 
entered.  She  was  trembling  to  such  an  extent  that  she 
had  to  lean  on  her  waiting-woman.  Having  sent  her  back 
to  the  chapel  door,  she  spoke  again,  in  a  voice  that  was 
barely  intelligible.  "  You  will  give  me  your  word,"  she  said, 
"  your  sacred  word  of  honour,  that  you  will  obey  the 
duchess,  and  try  to  escape  on  the  day  and  in  the  manner  in 
which  she  will  command  you.  Otherwise  I  shall  immedi- 
ately take  refuge  in  a  convent,  and  I  swear  to  you,  here,  that 
I  will  never  open  my  lips  to  you  again." 

Fabrizio  stood  dumb. 

"  Promise,"  said  Clelia,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  almost 
beside  herself,  "  or  else  this  talk  will  be  our  very  last.  You 
have  turned  my  life  into  something  horrible.  You  are  here 
because  of  me,  and  any  day  of  your  life  here  may  be  your 
last."  Clelia  was  so  weak  at  this  moment  that  she  had  to 
support  herself  against  a  huge  arm-chair  which  had  been 

•       \  377 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

placed  in  the  centre  of  the  chapel  in  former  days  for  the 
use  of  the  imprisoned  prince.    She  very  nearly  fainted  away. 

"  What  must  I  promise  ?  "  said  Fabrizio  in  a  despairing 
voice. 

"  You  know  what." 

"  Then  I  swear  to  cast  myself  knowingly  into  hideous 
misery,  and  to  condemn  myself  to  live  far  from  everything 
I  love  in  this  world." 

"  Promise  clearly !  " 

"  I  swear  I  will  obey  the  duchess,  and  take  to  flight  when 
and  how  she  wills.  And  what  is  to  become  of  me  when  I 
am  far  away  from  you  ?  " 

"  Swear  you  will  save  yourself,  whatever  happens !  " 

"  What !  Have  you  made  up  your  mind  to  marry 
Crescenzi  as  soon  as  I  am  gone  ?  " 

"  My  God,  what  a  creature  you  must  think  me ! — 
But  swear,  or  my  soul  will  never  know  peace  again !  " 

"  Well,  then,  I  -swear  I  will  escape  from  here  the  day  the 
duchess  commands  me  to  do  so,  and  whatever  may  come 
to  pass  beforehand." 

Once  Clelia  had  extracted  the  oath,  she  grew  so  faint 
that  she  had  to  retire  as  soon  as  she  had  expressed  her 
thankfulness  to  Fabrizio. 

"  Everything,"  she  said,  "  was  ready  for  my  flight  to- 
morrow, if  you  had  insisted  on  staying  on  here.  At  this 
moment  I  should  have  looked  my  last  on  you.  That  was  my 
vow  to  the  Madonna.  Now,  as  soon  as  I  am  able  to  leave 
my  room  I  will  go  and  look  at  the  wall  below  the  new 
stone  in  the  balustrade." 

The  next  day  she  looked  so  deadly  white  that  it  cut  him 
to  the  heart.     She  said  to  him,  from  her  aviary  window: 

"  We  must  not  deceive  ourselves,  dear  friend ;  our  afifec- 
tion  is  a  sinful  one,  and  I  am  sure  some  misfortune  will 
overtake  us.  If  nothing  worse  happens,  your  attempted 
flight  will  be  discovered,  and  you  will  be  utterly  lost.  Nev- 
ertheless we  must  obey  the  dictates  of  human  prudence,  and 
that  commands  us  to  make  every  eflFort,  To  get  down  the 
outside  of  the  great  tower  you  must  have  over  two  hundred 
feet  of  the  strongest  rope.    With  all  my  endeavours  I  have 

378 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

not  been  able,  since  I  knew  of  the  plan,  to  get  together  more 
than  fifty  feet.  The  governor  has  issued  an  order  that  every 
cord  and  rope  found  in  the  citadel  is  to  be  burned,  and  every 
night  the  ropes  belonging  to  the  wells — which  are  so  weak 
that  they  often  break  even  under  the  light  weight  they  have 
to  carry — are  carefully  removed.  But  you  must  pray  God 
to  pardon  me,  for  I  am  betraying  my  father,  and  labour- 
ing, unnatural  daughter  that  I  am,  to  cause  him  mortal  grief. 
Pray  to  God  for  me,  and  if  your  life  is  saved,  make  a  vow 
to  consecrate  every  instant  of  it  to  his  glory. 

"  Here  is  an  idea  which  has  occurred  to  me.  In  a  week 
from  now  I  am  to  go  down  from  the  citadel  to  be  present 
at  the  wedding  of  one  of  the  Marchese  Crescenzi's  sisters. 
I  shall  return  at  night,  of  course,  as  propriety  demands.  But 
I  will  use  all  my  endeavours  to  come  in  as  late  as  possible, 
and  perhaps  Barbone  will  not  venture  to  look  at  me  too 
closely.  All  the  great  ladies  of  the  court,  and  among  them, 
no  doubt,  the  duchess,  will  be  present  at  the  wedding.  In 
Heaven's  name,  let  one  of  those  ladies  pass  me  a  bundle  of 
fine  rope,  not  too  thick,  and  packed  as  small  as  possible. 
If  I  have  to  risk  a  thousand  deaths,  I  will  dare  every  means, 
even  the  most  dangerous,  of  getting  the  bundle  into  the  for- 
tress, and  so  fail,  woe  is  me,  in  every  duty.  If  my  father 
finds  me  out,  I  shall  never  see  you  again.  But  whatever 
fate  awaits  me,  I  shall  be  happy,  as  a  sister  may  be  happy, 
if  I  can  help  to  save  you." 

That  very  evening,  by  means  of  his  nightly  signals  with 
the  lamp,  Fabrizio  informed  the  duchess  of  the  unique 
chance  that  presented  itself  for  sending  him  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  rope.  But  he  besought  her  to  keep  the  matter 
secret,  even  from  the  count,  which  seemed  to  her  a  most 
extraordinary  thing. 

"  He  is  mad,"  thought  the  duchess.  "  His  imprisonment 
has  altered  his  nature ;  he  looks  at  everything  from  the  tragic 
point  of  view."  The  next  morning  a  leaden  ball,  cast  by 
the  catapult,  brought  the  prisoner  news  that  he  stood  in  the 
greatest  possible  danger.  The  individual,  he  was  told,  who 
had  undertaken  to  bring  in  the  ropes  was  thereby  positively 
and  absolutely  saving  his  life.    Fabrizio  lost  no  time  in  ap- 

379 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

prising  Clelia  of  this  fact.  The  leaden  ball  also  brought 
Fabrizio  a  very  exact  sketch  of  that  portion  of  the  western 
wall  lying  between  the  bastions,  by  which  he  was  to  descend 
from  the  top  of  the  great  tower.  Once  he  had  got  so  far,  his 
escape  would  become  fairly  easy,  the  ramparts,  as  my 
readers  are  aware,  being  only  twenty-three  feet  in  height. 
The  back  of  the  plan  bore  a  splendid  sonnet,  written  in  a 
small  delicate  hand.  In  these  lines,  some  high-hearted  per- 
son adjured  Fabrizio  to  take  to  flight,  and  not  to  permit  his 
soul  to  be  debased,  and  his  body  worn  out,  by  the  eleven 
years  of  captivity  which  still  lay  before  him. 

And  at  this  point  a  necessary  detail,  which  partly  ex- 
plains how  the  duchess  had  found  courage  to  counsel  Fa- 
brizio to  attempt  so  dangerous  an  escape,  obliges  us  to  break 
the  thread  of  the  story  of  this  bold  enterprise  for  a  short 
space. 

The  Raversi  faction,  like  all  parties  when  they  are  out 
of  power,  was  anything  but  united.  Cavaliere  Riscara  hated 
Chief- Justice  Rassi,  who,  so  he  declared,  had  caused  him  to 
lose  an  important  lawsuit,  in  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
Riscara  had  been  in  the  wrong.  Through  Riscara,  the 
prince  received  an  anonymous  warning  that  Fabrizio's  sen- 
tence had  been  officially  reported  to  the  governor  of  the 
citadel.  The  Marchesa  Raversi,  like  the  clever  party  leader 
she  was,  was  exceedingly  annoyed  by  this  false  step,  and  at 
once  sent  warning  of  it  to  her  friend  the  Chief  Justice.  She 
thought  it  perfectly  natural  that  he  should  have  desired  to 
get  something  out  of  Mosca,  so  long  as  Mosca  remained 
in  power.  Rassi  betook  himself  boldly  to  the  palace,  making 
sure  a  few  kicks  would  settle  the  matter  as  far  as  he  was 
concerned.  The  prince  could  not  do  without  some  clever 
lawyer  about  him,  and  Rassi  had  carefully  procured  the 
banishment,  as  Liberals,  of  a  judge  and  a  barrister,  the  only 
two  men  in  the  country  who  might  possibly  have  taken  his 
place. 

The  prince,  in  a  fury,  poured  out  a  volley  of  abuse  upon 
him,  and  was  in  the  act  of  moving  forward  to  thrash  him. 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  Rassi,  with  the  most  perfect  calm- 
ness, "  it  is  only  some  clerk's  mistake,  after  all.    The  matter 

380 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

is  prescribed  by  law.  It  ought  to  have  been  done  the  very 
morning  after  Del  Dongo  was  sent  to  the  citadel.  The 
zealous  clerk  thought  he  had  forgotten  something,  and  got 
my  signature  to  the  letter  as  a  mere  matter  of  form." 

"  And  you  think  you  will  get  me  to  believe  such  clumsy 
lies  as  these !  "  shouted  the  prince,  in  a  rage.  "  Why  can't 
you  say  honestly  that  you've  sold  yourself  to  that  scamp 
Mosca,  and  that  he  has  given  you  your  decoration  for  doing 
it  ?  But,  by  my  soul,  a  thrashing  shall  not  finish  the  job  for 
you.  I'll  have  you  tried,  and  you  shall  be  dismissed  in  dis- 
grace." 

"  I  defy  you  to  have  me  tried,"  answered  Rassi  boldly. 
He  knew  this  to  be  a  sure  means  of  quieting  the  prince. 
"  The  law  is  on  my  side,  and  you've  no  second  Rassi  who 
will  know  how  to  elude  it.  You  will  not  dismiss  me,  be- 
cause at  certain  moments  your  nature  grows  severe,  and  then 
you  thirst  for  blood,  while  at  the  same  time  you  desire  to 
retain  the  esteem  of  all  reasonable  Italians,  because  that 
esteem  is  essential  to  your  ambition.  At  all  events,  you'll 
recall  me  the  first  time  your  temper  makes  you  hanker  after 
some  severe  sentence,  and,  as  usual,  I  shall  provide  you 
with  a  correct  verdict,  found  by  fairly  honest  judges,  to 
satisfy  your  spite.  Try  and  find  another  man  in  your  do- 
minions as  useful  to  you  as  I." 

This  said,  Rassi  took  to  flight.  He  had  escaped  with 
one  hearty  blow  from  a  ruler  and  five  or  six  kicks.  He 
left  the  palace  and  departed  straight  to  his  country  house  at 
Riva.  He  was  rather  afraid  of  a  dagger  thrust  while  the 
prince  was  in  his  first  fury.  Still  he  was  quite  sure  that 
before  a  fortnight  was  out  a  courier  would  be  sent  to  recall 
him  to  the  capital.  He  devoted  the  time  he  spent  in  the 
country  to  organizing  a  safe  means  of  correspondence  with 
Count  Mosca ;  he  was  desperately  in  love  with  the  title  of 
baron,  and  thought  the  prince  had  too  high  an  opinion  of 
that  whilom  sublime  dignity  known  as  "  noble  rank  "  to 
allow  of  his  ever  conferring  it  upon  him ;  whereas  the  count, 
who  was  very  proud  of  his  own  birth,  thought  nothing  of 
any  nobility  that  could  not  show  proofs  of  its  existence  be- 
fore the  year  1400. 

381 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  Chief  Justice  had  not  been  mistaken  in  his  forecast ; 
he  had  hardly  been  a  week  in  his  country  house  before  one 
of  the  prince's  friends  paid  him  a  chance  visit,  and  advised 
him  to  return  to  Parma  without  delay.  The  prince  gave 
him  a  smiling  reception,  but  presently  he  turned  very  grave, 
and  made  him  swear  on  the  Gospels  that  he  would  keep 
what  he  was  about  to  confide  to  him  secret.  Rassi  swore  in 
the  most  solemn  manner,  and  the  prince,  his  eyes  blazing 
with  hatred,  exclaimed  that  so  long  as  Fabrizio  del  Dongo 
was  alive  he  should  never  be  master  in  his  own  house, 
adding : 

"  I  can  neither  drive  the  duchess  out,  nor  endure  her 
presence.    Her  looks  defy  me,  and  half  kill  me." 

After  Rassi  had  allowed  the  prince  to  explain  himself 
at  great  length,  he  pretended  to  be  greatly  puzzled  himself, 
and  then — 

"  Your  Highness  shall  be  obeyed,  no  doubt,"  cried  he. 
"  But  it  is  a  horribly  difficult  business.  There  are  no 
grounds  for  condemning  a  Del  Dongo  to  death  for  having 
killed  a  Giletti.  It  is  an  astonishing  feat,  already,  to  have 
given  him  twelve  years  in  a  fortress  for  it,  and  besides,  I 
have  reason  to  suspect  the  duchess  has  laid  her  hand  on 
three  of  the  peasants  who  were  working  at  the  Sanguigpia 
excavations,  and  were  outside  the  ditch  when  that  villain 
Giletti  attacked  Del  Dongo." 

"  And  where  are  these  witnesses  ? "  cried  the  prince 
angrily. 

"  Hidden  in  Piedmont,  I  suppose.  Now,  we  should  want 
a  conspiracy  against  your  Highness's  life." 

"  That  plan  has  its  dangerous  side,"  said  the  prince.  "  It 
stirs  up  the  idea." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Rassi,  with  an  air  of  innocence,  "  there 
you  have  the  whole  of  my  official  arsenal." 

"  We  still  have  poison." 

"  But  who  would  give  it?    That  idiot  of  a  Conti?" 

"  Well,  according  to  all  we  have  heard,  it  would  not  be 
his  first  attempt." 

"  He  would  have  to  be  in  a  rage  himself,"  replied  Rassi, 
**  and  besides,  when  he  got  rid  of  the  captain,  he  was  not 

382 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

thirty  years  old,  and  he  was  desperately  in  love  and  far  less 
of  a  coward  than  he  is  now.  Reasons  of  state  must,  no 
doubt,  override  every  other,  but,  taken  at  a  disadvantage,  as 
I  am  now,  and  at  the  first  glance,  the  only  person  I  can  think 
of  to  carry  out  the  sovereign's  orders  is  a  man  of  the  name 
of  Barbone,  the  jail  clerk  in  the  fortress,  whom  Del  Dongo 
knocked  down  the  first  day  he  was  there." 

Once  the  prince  was  set  at  his  ease,  the  conversation  was 
endless ;  he  closed  it  by  giving  his  chief  justice  a  month's 
law.  Rassi  had  begged  for  two.  The  next  morning  he  re- 
ceived a  secret  gratuity  of  a  thousand  sequins.  He  thought 
the  matter  over  for  three  days.  On  the  fourth  he  came 
back  to  his  original  argument,  which  seemed  to  him  quite 
evident.  "  Count  Mosca  is  the  only  person  who  will  be 
inclined  to  keep  his  word  to  me,  because  in  making  me  a 
baron  he  gives  me  something  he  does  not  value  himself. 
Secondo,  if  I  warn  him,  I  probably  save  myself  from  com- 
mitting a  crime  the  full  price  of  which  I  have  pretty  nearly 
received  in  advance.  Tertio,  I  avenge  myself  for  the  first 
humiliating  blows  bestowed  on  the  Cavaliere  Rassi."  The 
following  night,  he  acquainted  Count  Mosca  with  the  whole 
of  his  conversation  with  the  prince. 

The  count  was  still  paying  his  court  to  the  duchess  in 
secret.  It  is  true  that  he  did  not  see  her  more  than  once 
or  twice  a  month  in  her  own  house,  but  almost  every  week, 
and  whenever  he  could  contrive  any  opportunity  for  speaking 
to  her  about  Fabrizio,  the  duchess,  attended  by  Cecchina, 
came,  late  in  the  evening,  and  spent  a  few  minutes  in  the 
count's  garden.  She  contrived  to  deceive  even  her  coach- 
man, who  was  devoted  to  her,  and  who  believed  her  to  be 
paying  a  visit  in  a  neighbouring  house. 

My  readers  will  easily  imagine  that  the  moment  the 
count  had  received  the  Chief  Justice's  hideous  communica- 
tion he  made  the  signal  agreed  on  with  the  duchess. 
Though  it  was  midnight,  she  sent  Cecchina  to  beg  him  to 
come  to  her  at  once.  The  count,  as  delighted  as  any  young 
lover  by  this  appearance  of  intimacy,  hesitated  to  tell  the 
duchess  the  whole  story.  He  feared  he  might  see  her  go 
wild  with  grief.    Yet,  after  having  cast  about  for  equivoca- 

383 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

tions  which  might  mitigate  the  fatal  announcement,  he  ended 
by  reveaHng  the  whole  truth.  He  was  not  capable  of  keep- 
ing back  any  secret  she  begged  him  to  tell  her.  But  nine 
months  of  excessive  misfortune  had  greatly  altered  her  pas- 
sionate soul ;  her  nature  was  strengthened,  and  the  duchess 
did  not  break  out  into  sobs  or  lamentations.  The  next 
evening  she  caused  the  signal  of  imminent  danger  to  be 
made  to  Fabrizio : 

"  The  castle  is  on  fire" 

He  answered  quite  clearly: 

"  Are  my  books  burned  f  " 

That  same  night,  she  had  the  happiness  of  sending  him 
a  letter  inside  a  leaden  ball.  A  week  after  that  day  came  the 
wedding  of  the  Marchese  Crescenzi's  sister,  at  which  the 
duchess  was  guilty  of  a  desperate  piece  of  imprudence,  which 
shall  be  duly  related  in  its  place. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

About  a  year  before  the  period  of  her  misfortunes,  the 
duchess  had  made  acquaintance  with  a  strange  being.  One 
day,  when,  as  they  say  in  that  country,  "  aveva  la  luna,"  she 
had  betaken  herself,  quite  unexpectedly,  toward  evening,  to 
her  country  house  on  the  hill  overlooking  the  Po,  at  Sacca, 
beyond  Colorno.  She  delighted  in  making  improvements 
in  the  place ;  she  loved  the  huge  forest  that  crowns  the  hill 
and  grows  close  up  to  the  house.  She  was  having  paths 
cut  through  it  to  various  picturesque  spots. 

"  You'll  be  carried  off  by  brigands,  fair  lady,"  said  the 
prince  to  her  one  day.  "  A  forest  where  you  are  known 
to  walk  can  not  possibly  remain  deserted."  The  prince  cast 
an  eye  on  the  count,  whose  jealousy  he  was  always  trying 
to  kindle. 

"  I  have  no  fears,  Most  Serene  Highness,"  replied  the 
duchess,  with  an  air  of  innocence.  "  When  I  walk  about  in 
my  woods,  I  reassure  myself  with  the  thought  that  I  have 
never  done  any  one  any  harm ;  therefore,  who  should  there 
be  to  hate  me  ?  "  The  remark  struck  the  hearers  as  a  bold 
one;  it  recalled  the  insulting  langfuage  employed  by  the 
Liberals  of  the  country,  a  most  impudent  set  of  people. 

On  the  day  of  which  we  speak,  the  duchess  was  reminded 
of  the  prince's  remark  by  the  sight  of  a  very  poorly  dressed 
man,  who  was  following  her,  at  a  distance,  through  the 
trees.  In  the  course  of  her  walk  she  made  an  unexpected 
turn,  which  brought  her  so  close  to  the  stranger  that  she 
was  frightened.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  call  to  her  game- 
keeper, whom  she  had  left  about  a  thousand  paces  off,  in  the 
flower-garden,  close  to  the  house.  But  the  stranger  had 
time  to  approach  her,  and  cast  himself  at  her  feet.    He  was 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

young,  very  handsome,  miserably  clad — there  were  rents  a 
foot  long  in  his  garments — but  his  eyes  blazed  with  the  fire 
of  an  ardent  soul. 

"  I  am  condemned  to  death ;  I  am  Dr.  Ferrante  Palla ; 
I  am  starving,  and  so  are  my  five  children." 

The  duchess  had  noticed  that  he  was  frightfully  thin, 
but  his  eyes  were  so  beautiful,  and  their  expression  at  once 
so  fervent  and  so  tender,  that  any  idea  of  crime  never  oc- 
curred to  her.  "  Pallagi,"  thought  she  to  herself,  "  should 
have  given  such  eyes  to  the  St.  John  in  the  Desert  he  has 
just  placed  in  the  cathedral."  The  thought  of  St.  John 
had  been  suggested  by  Ferrante's  incredible  thinness.  The 
duchess  gave  him  the  only  three  sequins  she  had  in  her 
purse,  apologizing  for  the  smallness  of  the  gift,  on  the  score 
that  she  had  just  paid  her  gardener's  account.  Ferrante 
thanked  her  fervently.  "  Alas !  "  he  said,  "  in  old  days  I  lived 
in  cities ;  I  saw  beautiful  women.  Since  I  have  been  con- 
demned to  death  for  performing  my  duties  as  a  citizen  I  have 
dwelt  in  the  woods,  and  I  was  following  you,  just  now,  not 
to  rob  you,  nor  to  ask  for  alms,  but,  like  some  savage,  fasci- 
nated by  a  dainty  beauty.  It  is  long  since  I  have  seen  two 
fair  white  hands." 

"  But  pray  rise,"  said  the  duchess,  for  he  was  still 
kneeling. 

"  Let  me  stay  where  I  am,"  answered  Ferrante.  "  The 
position  makes  me  realize  I  am  not  stealing  at  this  moment, 
and  that  thought  calms  me.  For  you  must  know  that  since 
I  have  been  prevented  from  following  my  profession,  I  have 
lived  by  theft.  But  at  this  moment  I  am  only  a  humble 
mortal  adoring  a  sublime  beauty."  The  duchess  realized 
that  the  man  was  a  little  mad,  but  she  was  not  frightened,  she 
read  the  poor  fellow's  fervent  and  kindly  soul  in  his  eyes, 
and  besides,  she  was  not  at  all  averse  to  people  of  extraordi- 
nary appearance. 

"  I  am  a  doctor,  then,  and  I  made  love  to  the  wife  of 
Sarasine,  the  apothecary  at  Parma.  He  discovered  us,  and 
drove  her  out,  with  three  children  whom  he  suspected,  and 
justly,  to  be  mine,  and  not  his  own.  She  has  borne  me  two 
more  since  then.    The  mother  and  her  five  children  live  in 

386 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  deepest  poverty  about  a  league  from  here,  in  a  sort  of 
hut  in  the  wood,  which  I  built  with  my  own  hands.  For  I 
must  keep  out  of  the  gendarmes'  way,  and  the  poor  woman 
will  not  be  parted  from  me.  I  was  condemned  to  death,  and 
very  justly,  too,  for  I  was  a  conspirator ;  I  loathe  the  prince, 
who  is  a  tyrant.  I  could  not  take  to  flight,  for  I  had  no 
money.  But  my  misfortunes  have  grown  far  greater  now, 
and  if  I  had  killed  myself  it  would  have  been  better  for  me, 
a  thousand  times.  I  have  no  love,  now,  for  the  unhappy 
woman  who  has  borne  me  these  five  children,  and  sacrificed 
everything  for  me.  I  love  another.  But  if  I  kill  myself, 
the  five  children  and  the  mother  must  literally  die  of  hun- 
ger."   There  was  truth  in  the  man's  voice. 

"  But  how  do  you  live  ?  "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  greatly 
affected. 

"  The  children's  mother  spins ;  the  eldest  girl  is  fed  by 
a  farmer  of  Liberal  opinions,  whose  sheep  she  tends.  As 
for  me,  I  rob  on  the  highway  between  Piacenza  and  Genoa," 

"  How  can  you  reconcile  robbery  with  your  Liberal  prin- 
ciples ?  " 

"  I  keep  note  of  the  people  whom  I  rob,  and  if  ever 
I  have  anything  of  my  own,  I  will  return  the  sums  I  have 
stolen  from  them.  I  reckon  that  a  tribune  of  the  people, 
such  as  I,  performs  a  work,  considering  its  danger,  well 
worth  a  hundred  francs  a  month,  and  I  take  care  not  to  steal 
more  than  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year.  But  I  am  mistaken ; 
I  steal  a  little  more  than  that,  and  the  overplus  enables  me  to 
pay  for  the  printing  of  my  works." 

"What  works?" 

"Will  the ever  have  a  chamber  and  a  budget?" 

"  What !  "  cried  the  duchess  in  astonishment.  "  Then 
you,  sir,  are  one  of  the  most  famous  poets  of  our  century, 
the  renowned  Ferrante  Palla !  " 

"  Renowned,  that  may  be ;  but  most  unhappy,  that  is 
sure." 

"  And  a  man  of  such  powers,  sir,  is  forced  to  live  by 
theft!" 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  very  reason  why  I  have  some 
talent.    Up  till  now  all  our  best-known  authors  have  been 

387 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

paid  either  by  the  government  or  by  the  faith  they  were  en- 
deavouring to  undermine.  Now,  in  my  case,  first  of  all,  I 
carry  my  life  in  my  hand,  and  secondly,  consider,  madam, 
the  thoughts  that  stir  within  me  when  I  set  out  to  rob !  '  Am 
I  doing  right  ? '  I  say  to  myself,  *  Are  my  services  as  a 
tribune  really  worth  a  hundred  francs  a  month  ?  '  I've  two 
shirts,  the  coat  you  see  upon  me,  some  poor  weapons,  and 
I  shall  certainly  end  by  being  hanged.  I  venture  to  think  I 
am  disinterested.  I  should  be  happy,  but  for  the  fatal  love 
which  prevents  my  finding  anything  but  misery  in  the  com- 
pany of  the  mother  of  my  children.  The  ugliness  of  my 
poverty  is  what  makes  me  suffer.  I  love  rich  dresses,  white 
hands  " — and  he  began  to  look  at  the  duchess's  hands  in  a 
way  that  frightened  her. 

"  Farewell,  sir,"  she  said.  "  Can  I  serve  you  in  any  mat- 
ter at  Parma?" 

"  Give  a  thought,  sometimes,  to  this  question :  His  pro- 
fession is  to  stir  men's  hearts,  and  prevent  them  from  falling 
asleep  in  that  false  and  utterly  material  happiness  which 
monarchies  bestow.  Is  the  service  he  renders  his  fellow- 
citizens  worth  a  hundred  francs  a  month? — My  misfor- 
tune," he  added  very  gently,  "  is  that  I  love.  For  nearly 
two  years  you  have  filled  all  my  soul,  but  until  this  day  I  had 
looked  at  you  without  causing  you  any  fear,"  and  he  took 
to  flight  with  a  rapidity  so  prodigious  that  it  both  astonished 
and  reassured  the  duchess.  "  The  gendarmes  would  find  it 
difficult  to  catch  him,"  she  thought.    "  He  certainly  is  mad." 

"  He  is  mad,"  her  servants  told  her.  "  We  have  all 
known  for  ever  so  long  that  the  poor  man  is  desperately  in 
love  with  the  sig^ora.  When  she  is  here,  we  see  him  wan- 
dering about  in  the  upper  parts  of  the  wood,  and  as  soon 
as  she  is  gone  he  never  fails  to  come  down  and  sit  wherever 
she  has  stopped.  He  carefully  picks  up  any  flowers  which 
may  have  fallen  from  her  nosegay,  and  carries  them  about 
for  a  long  time,  fastened  to  his  shabby  hat." 

"  And  you  never  told  me  of  these  follies  ? "  said  the 
duchess,  almost  reproachfully. 

"  We  were  afraid  the  Signora  Duchessa  might  tell  Count 
Mosca.    Poor  Ferrante  is  such  a  good  fellow,  he  never  does 

388 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

any  one  any  harm,  and  because  he  loves  our  Napoleon,  he 
has  been  condemned  to  death." 

Not  a  word  did  she  say  to  the  minister  about  this  meet- 
ing, and  as  it  was  the  first  secret  she  had  kept  from  him 
for  over  four  years,  she  found  herself  stopped  short  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence  at  least  ten  times  over.  When  she 
went  back  to  Sacca  she  brought  gold  with  her,  but  Ferrante 
did  not  appear.  A  fortnight  later  she  went  again.  Ferrante, 
after  having  followed  her  for  some  time,  bounding  along  in 
the  wood  about  a  hundred  paces  from  her,  bore  down  upon 
her  as  swiftly  as  a  sparrow-hawk  and  cast  himself  at  her 
knees,  as  on  the  first  occasion. 

"  Where  were  you  a  fortnight  ago  ?  " 

"  In  the  mountains  beyond  Novi,  robbing  some  mule- 
teers on  their  way  back  from  Milan,  where  they  had  been 
selling  oil." 

"  Accept  this  purse.** 

Ferrante  opened  the  purse,  took  out  a  single  sequin, 
which  he  kissed  and  thrust  into  his  bosom,  and  then  gave 
the  purse  back  to  her. 

"  You  give  me  back  this  purse — you,  who  are  a  robber !  " 

"  No  doubt  about  that.  My  rule  is  that  I  must  never 
have  more  than  a  hundred  francs.  Now,  at  this  moment, 
the  mother  of  my  children  has  eighty  francs  and  I  have 
twenty-five ;  I  am  out  of  my  reckoning  by  five  francs,  and 
if  I  were  to  be  hanged  at  this  moment  I  should  be  stung 
by  remorse.  I  have  taken  one  sequin,  because  it  comes 
from  you,  and  I  love  you ! " 

The  tone  in  which  these  simple  words  were  spoken  was 
perfect.  "  He  really  does  love ! "  thought  the  duchess  to 
herself. 

That  day  he  seemed  quite  off  his  balance.  He  said  there 
were  some  people  at  Parma  who  owed  him  six  hundred 
francs,  and  with  that  sum  he  would  repair  his  hut,  in  which 
his  poor  children  were  now  constantly  catching  cold. 

"  But  I  will  advance  the  six  hundred  francs  to  you,'* 
exclaimed  the  duchess,  greatly  moved. 

"  But,  then,  would  not  my  political  opponents  slander 
me,  and  say  that  I,  a  public  man,  am  selling  myself  ?  " 

389 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  duchess,  deeply  touched,  oflfered  to  conceal  him 
at  Parma  if  he  would  swear  to  her  that  for  the  moment  he 
would  not  exercise  his  functions  in  the  town,  and  above 
all  that  he  would  not  carry  out  any  of  the  death  sentences 
which  he  declared  he  had  in  petto. 

"  And  if  I  am  hanged  as  the  result  of  my  imprudence," 
said  Ferrante  seriously,  "  all  those  wretches  who  do  the 
people  so  much  harm  will  live  for  years  and  years,  and 
whose  fault  will  that  be  ?  What  would  my  father  say  to  me 
when  I  meet  him  up  yonder?" 

The  duchess  talked  to  him  a  great  deal  about  his  little 
children,  who  would  very  likely  die  of  the  damp.  At  last 
he  accepted  her  offer  of  a  hiding-place  in  Parma. 

During  the  one  and  only  half-day  which  the  Duke  San- 
severina  had  spent  at  Parma  after  his  marriage,  he  had 
shown  the  duchess  a  very  curious  secret  chamber  in  the 
southern  comer  of  the  palace  which  bore  his  name.  The 
outer  wall,  which  dates  from  the  middle  ages,  is  eight 
feet  thick.  It  has  been  hollowed  out  within,  and  a  chamber 
has  been  thus  formed,  some  twenty  feet  high,  and  only  two 
wide.  Just  beside  it  is  that  much-admired  "  reservoir," 
quoted  by  all  travellers — a  famous  piece  of  twelfth-century 
work,  erected  during  the  siege  of  Parma  by  the  Emperor 
Sigismund,  and  included,  at  a  later  period,  within  the  in- 
closure  of  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina. 

To  enter  the  hiding-place,  a  huge  block  of  stone,  set 
toward  its  centre  on  an  iron  pivot,  must  be  swung  aside. 
So  deeply  touched  was  the  duchess  by  Ferrante's  condition 
of  madness  and  the  melancholy  fate  of  his  children,  for  whom 
he  obstinately  refused  to  accept  any  gift  of  value,  that  for 
some  considerable  time  she  allowed  him  to  make  use  of  this 
chamber.  About  a  month  later  she  saw  him  again,  still  in  the 
woods  at  Sacca,  and,  being  a  trifle  calmer  on  that  occasion, 
he  recited  one  of  his  sonnets,  which  struck  her  as  being 
equal,  if  not  superior,  to  all  the  finest  things  produced  in 
Italy  during  the  two  previous  centuries.  Ferrante  was  granted 
several  interviews.  But  his  passion  g^ew  more  ardent  and 
importunate,  and  the  duchess  perceived  that  it  was  following 
the  laws  of  every  love  which  is  allowed  the  smallest  oppor- 

390 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

tunity  for  conceiving  a  gleam  of  hope.  She  sent  him  back 
to  his  woods,  and  forbade  him  to  speak  to  her.  He  obeyed 
her  instantly,  with  the  most  perfect  gentleness. 

Thus  matters  stood  when  Fabrizio  was  arrested.  Three 
days  afterward,  just  at  nightfall,  a  Capuchin  friar  knocked  at 
the  door  of  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina.  He  had,  he  said,  an 
important  secret,  which  he  desired  to  communicate  to  the 
mistress  of  the  mansion.  She  was  so  wretched  that  she  ad- 
mitted him  to  her  presence.  It  was  Ferrante.  "  A  fresh 
iniquity  is  taking  place  here — one  with  which  the  tribune  of 
the  people  must  concern  himself.  Moreover,  as  a  private 
individual,  all  I  have  to  give  the  Duchess  Sanseverina  is  my 
life,  and  that  I  offer  her," 

This  heartfelt  devotion  on  the  part  of  a  thief  and  a  mad- 
man touched  the  duchess  deeply.  For  a  long  time  she  con- 
versed with  this  man,  held  to  be  the  greatest  poet  of  northern 
Italy,  and  she  shed  many  tears.  "  This  man  understands  my 
heart,"  said  she  to  herself.  The  next  day,  at  the  Ave  Maria, 
he  reappeared,  disguised  as  a  liveried  servant. 

"  I  have  not  left  Parma.  I  have  heard  a  horrible  thing 
which  my  lips  shall  never  repeat — ^but  here  I  am.  Consider, 
madam,  what  it  is  that  you  refuse !  The  being  you  see  be- 
fore you  is  no  court  puppet,  but  a  man,"  He  knelt  as  he 
spoke  the  words,  as  though  to  increase  their  weight,  and 
added :  "  Yesterday  I  said  to  myself,  *  She  wept  in  my  pres- 
ence, therefore  she  is  a  thought  less  wretched ! '  " 

"  But,  sir,  think  of  the  risks  you  are  running.  You  will 
be  arrested  in  this  city." 

"  The  tribune,  madam,  will  reply,  '  What  is  life  when 
duty  calls  ? '  The  unhappy  man  whose  penance  it  is  that  he 
feels  no  passion  for  virtue  since  he  has  been  consumed  by 
love,  will  add :  *  Madam,  Fabrizio,  a  brave-hearted  man,  is 
perhaps  about  to  perish.  Do  not  drive  away  another  brave 
man  who  offers  you  his  service.  Here  you  have  a  frame  of 
steel  and  a  heart  that  fears  nothing  in  the  world  save  your 
displeasure ! " 

"  If  you  mention  your  feelings  to  me  again,  I  will  close 
my  doors  to  you  forever." 

It  did  occur  to  the  duchess,  that  evening,  to  tell  Fer- 

391 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

rante  she  would  provide  a  small  income  for  his  children. 
But  she  was  afraid  he  might  go  out  from  her  presence  and 
destroy  himself. 

Hardly  had  he  left  her,  when,  haunted  as  she  was  by 
gloomy  forebodings,  she  began  to  muse.  "  I,  too,  may  die — 
would  to  God  it  might  be  so,  and  soon !  If  I  could  only  find 
a  man  worthy  of  the  name,  to  whom  I  might  confide  my  poor 
Fabrizio !  " 

An  idea  flashed  across  the  duchess.  She  took  a  sheet 
of  paper,  and  in  a  document  into  which  she  introduced  all 
the  few  law  terms  with  which  she  was  acquainted,  she  ac- 
knowledged that  she  had  received  the  sum  of  twenty  thou- 
sand francs  from  Signor  Ferrante  Palla,  on  the  express  con- 
dition that  she  should  pay  a  yearly  pension  of  fifteen  hundred 
francs  to  Signora  Sarasine  and  her  five  children.  The 
duchess  added :  "  I  further  leave  a  yearly  income  of  three 
hundred  francs  to  each  of  her  five  children,  on  condition 
that  Ferrante  Palla  shall  professionally  attend  my  nephew 
Fabrizio  del  Dongo,  and  be  as  a  brother  to  him — I  implore 
him  to  do  this ! "  She  signed  the  paper,  antedated  it  by  a 
year,  and  put  it  away. 

Two  days  later  Ferrante  reappeared.  It  was  just  at  the 
moment  when  the  whole  town  was  stirred  by  reports  of  Fa- 
brizio's  approaching  execution.  Was  this  gloomy  ceremony 
to  take  place  within  the  citadel,  or  under  the  tree  in  the 
public  square  ?  Many  men  of  the  humbler  classes  walked  up 
and  down  in  front  of  the  citadel  gates  that  evening,  to  try 
and  see  whether  the  scaffold  was  being  built.  This  sight  had 
moved  Ferrante.  He  found  the  duchess  dissolved  in  tears, 
and  quite  unable  to  speak.  She  greeted  him  with  her  hand, 
and  pointed  him  to  a  seat.  Ferrante,  who  was  disguised,  that 
day,  as  a  Capuchin  friar,  behaved  magnificently.  Instead  of 
seating  himself,  he  knelt  down,  and  began  to  pray  devoutly 
in  an  undertone.  Seizing  a  moment  when  the  duchess  was 
a  little  calmer,  and  without  changing  his  position,  he  broke 
oflf  his  prayer  for  an  instant,  with  the  words :  "  Once  again 
he  oflfers  his  life." 

"  Consider  what  you  say,"  exclaimed  the  duchess,  and 
in  her  eye  there  was  that  wild  look  which  follows  upon 

392 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

tears,  and  warns  us  that  rage  is  getting  the  better  of 
emotion. 

"  He  offers  his  Hfe  to  place  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  Fa- 
brizio's  fate,  or  to  avenge  it." 

"  There  is  a  circumstance,"  replied  the  duchess,  "  in 
which  I  might  accept  the  sacrifice  of  your  life." 

She  was  looking  at  him,  closely  and  sternly.  A  flash  of 
joy  shone  in  his  eyes ;  he  rose  swiftly  to  his  feet  and  stretched 
out  his  arms  toward  heaven.  The  duchess  fetched  a  docu- 
ment hidden  in  a  secret  drawer  in  her  walnut-wood  cabinet. 
"  Read  it,"  said  she  to  Ferrante.  It  was  the  gift  in  his  chil- 
dren's favour,  of  which  we  have  just  spoken. 

Tears  and  sobs  prevented  Ferrante  from  reading  to  the 
end ;  he  fell  on  his  knees. 

"  Give  me  back  that  paper,"  said  the  duchess,  and  she 
burned  it  at  the  taper  before  his  eyes. 

"  My  name  must  not  appear  if  you  are  taken  and  exe- 
cuted," she  added,  "  for  this  matter  affects  your  very  life." 

"  It  is  a  joy  to  me  to  die  by  injuring  the  tyrant ;  it  is  a 
much  greater  joy  to  die  for  you.  Now  that  is  said,  and 
clearly  understood,  do  me  the  kindness  not  to  speak  of 
money  again.  It  gives  me  a  painful  feeling  that  you  may 
doubt  me." 

"  If  you  are  compromised  I  may  be  so  too,"  replied  the 
duchess,  "  and  Fabrizio  after  me.  For  that  reason,  and  not 
at  all  because  I  doubt  your  courage,  I  insist  that  the  man 
who  will  pierce  my  heart  shall  be  poisoned,  and  not  stabbed. 
For  the  same  reason,  a  most  important  one  to  me,  I  com- 
mand you  to  do  everything  in  the  world  to  save  yourself." 

"  I  will  perform  all — faithfully,  punctually,  and  prudently. 
I  foresee,  madam,  that  my  vengeance  will  be  bound  up  with 
yours.  Even  if  it  were  otherwise,  I  would  still  obey — faith- 
fully, punctually,  and  prudently.  I  may  not  succeed,  but  I 
will  strive  with  all  the  strength  a  man  can  use." 

"  Fabrizio's  murderer  must  be  poisoned." 

"  I  had  guessed  it ;  and  during  the  seven-and-twenty 
months  of  this  wandering  and  hateful  life  of  mine,  I  have 
often  thought  of  committing  such  an  action  on  my  own  ac- 
count." 

393 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  If  I  am  detected  and  condemned  as  your  accomplice," 
continued  the  duchess,  and  there  was  pride  in  her  voice,  "  I 
do  not  choose  to  have  it  imputed  to  me  that  I  have  tempted 
you.  I  command  you  to  make  no  attempt  to  see  me  before 
the  moment  of  our  vengeance.  There  is  to  be  no  question 
of  his  being  put  to  death  until  I  give  you  the  signal.  At 
this  moment,  for  instance,  his  death,  far  from  being  a  service, 
would  be  a  misfortune  to  me.  His  death  will  probably  not 
have  to  take  place  for  several  months,  but  it  will  take  place ! 
I  insist  that  he  shall  die  by  poison,  and  I  would  rather  let 
him  live  on  than  see  him  killed  by  a  bullet.  For  reasons 
which  I  do  not  choose  to  explain,  I  insist  that  your  life  shall 
be  saved." 

The  tone  of  authority  the  duchess  used  to  him  filled  Fer- 
rante  with  delight.  A  mighty  joy  shone  in  his  eyes.  As  we 
have  said,  he  was  frightfully  thin,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
he  had  been  exceedingly  handsome  in  his  early  youth,  and 
he  fancied  he  still  was  what  he  had  been  in  former  days. 
"Am  I  mad?"  he  thought,  "or  does  the  duchess  intend,  some 
day,  when  I  shall  have  given  her  this  proof  of  my  devotion, 
to  make  me  the  happiest  of  all  living  men?  And  why  not, 
after  all?  Am  I  not  quite  as  good  as  that  puppet  Mosca, 
who  has  not  been  able  to  do  anything  for  her  in  her  need — 
not  even  to  help  Monsignore  Fabrizio  to  escape  ?  " 

"  I  may  desire  his  death  even  to-morrow,"  continued  the 
duchess,  still  in  the  same  authoritative  tone.  "  You  know 
that  huge  reservoir  of  water,  at  the  corner  of  the  palace,  close 
by  the  hiding-place  you  have  occasionally  occupied  ?  There 
are  secret  means  whereby  all  that  water  can  be  turned  into 
the  street.  Well,  that  shall  be  the  signal  for  my  vengeance. 
If  you  are  at  Parma  you  will  see,  if  you  are  living  in  your 
woods  you  will  hear,  that  the  great  reservoir  at  the  Sanse- 
verina  Palace  has  burst.  Act  then,  at  once !  But  use  poison, 
and,  above  all  things,  risk  your  own  life  as  little  as  may  be. 
Let  no  one  ever  know  that  I  have  had  a  finger  in  the  matter." 

"  Words  are  useless,"  replied  Ferrante,  with  ill-restrained 
enthusiasm.  "  I  have  already  decided  on  the  means  I  shall 
employ.  That  man's  life  becomes  more  odious  to  me  than 
before,  since  as  long  as  he  lives  I  shall  not  dare  to  look  on 

394 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

you  again.  I  shall  await  the  signal  of  the  reservoir  bursting 
on  to  the  street."  He  bowed  swiftly,  and  went  out.  The 
duchess  watched  him  go. 

When  he  had  reached  the  next  apartment  she  called  him 
back.    "  Ferrante,"  she  cried,  "  noble  fellow !  " 

He  returned,  as  though  impatient  at  being  delayed;  at 
that  moment  there  was  something  magnificent  about  his 
face. 

"  And  your  children  ?  " 

"  Madam,  they  will  be  richer  than  I.  You  will  perhaps 
gfrant  them  some  trifling  income." 

"  Here,"  said  the  duchess,  holding  out  a  sort  of  large 
olive-wood  case,  "  here  are  all  the  diamonds  I  have  left. 
They  are  worth  fifty  thousand  francs." 

"  Ah,  madam,  you  humiliate  me,"  exclaimed  Ferrante, 
with  a  horrified  gesture,  and  his  whole  countenance  changed. 

"  I  shall  never  see  you  again  before  the  thing  is  done. 
Take  this,  I  desire  it,"  added  the  duchess,  with  a  haughty 
expression  which  crushed  Ferrante.  He  slipped  the  case 
into  his  pocket  and  retired. 

He  had  closed  the  door  behind  him  when  the  duchess 
called  him  back,  and  he  returned,  wearing  an  anxious  ex- 
pression. The  duchess  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
drawing-room.  She  threw  herself  into  his  arms.  After  a 
moment  Ferrante  almost  fainted  from  sheer  happiness.  The 
duchess  freed  herself  from  his  embrace,  and  glanced  mean- 
ingly at  the  door. 

"  This  is  the  only  man  who  has  ever  understood  me,"  said 
the  duchess  to  herself.  "  Fabrizio  would  have  behaved  like 
that  if  he  could  have  understood  me." 

The  duchess  possessed  two  special  characteristics.  What 
she  had  desired  once  she  desired  always,  and  she  never  de- 
liberated a  second  time  concerning  anything  she  had  once 
decided.  In  this  last  connection  she  would  quote  a  remark 
made  by  her  first  husband,  the  kind-hearded  General  Pietra- 
nera.  "  What  an  insolence  to  my  own  self !  Why  should  I 
think  I  am  cleverer  to-day  than  I  was  when  I  made  the  de- 
cision ?  " 

From  that  moment  a  sort  of  cheerfulness  reappeared  in 

395 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  duchess's  temper.  Before  that  fatal  resolution  was  taken, 
at  every  step  her  mind  took,  at  every  new  point  she  noticed, 
she  had  felt  her  own  inferiority  to  the  prince,  her  weakness, 
and  the  vile  fashion  in  which  she  had  been  tricked.  The 
prince,  as  she  held,  had  shamefully  deceived  her,  and  Count 
Mosca,  as  the  result  of  his  courtier-like  instinct,  had,  though 
innocently,  seconded  the  prince's  efforts.  Once  vengeance 
was  decided  on,  she  felt  her  own  strength,  and  every  fresh 
working  of  her  mind  brought  her  happiness.  I  am  rather 
disposed  to  think  that  the  immoral  delight  the  Italian  nature 
finds  in  vengeance  is  connected  with  the  strength  of  the  na- 
tional imagination.  The  natives  of  other  countries  do  not, 
strictly  ispeaking,  forgive — they  forget. 

The  duchess  did  not  see  Palla  again  till  toward  the  end 
of  Fabrizio's  prison  days.  He  it  was,  as  my  readers  may 
perhaps  have  guessed,  who  suggested  the  idea  of  the  escape. 
In  the  woods,  about  two  leagues  from  Sacca,  stood  a  half- 
ruined  tower,  dating  from  the  middle  ages,  and  over  a  hun- 
dred feet  high.  Before  mentioning  the  idea  of  flight  a  sec- 
ond time  to  the  duchess,  Ferrante  besought  her  to  send  Lu- 
dovico  with  some  trusty  men,  to  set  a  succession  of  ladders 
against  this  tower.  In  the  presence  of  the  duchess  he  climbed 
to  the  top  by  the  ladders,  and  came  down  simply  on  a  knotted 
rope.  Three  times  over  he  made  the  experiment,  and  then 
set  forth  his  notion  again.  A  week  afterward  Ludovico  also 
came  down  from  the  top  of  the  tower  on  a  knotted  rope. 
Then  it  was  that  the  duchess  suggested  the  idea  to  Fabrizio. 

During  the  last  days  before  the  attempt,  which  might 
possibly,  and  that  in  more  than  one  fashion,  result  in  the 
prisoner's  death,  the  duchess  never  knew  an  instant's  repose, 
except  when  Ferrante  was  with  her.  The  man's  courage 
stirred  her  own,  but  it  will  be  easily  understood  that  she  felt 
obliged  to  hide  this  strange  connection  from  the  count.  She 
was  not  afraid  of  his  being  horrified  by  it,  but  she  would 
have  been  worried  by  his  objections,  which  would  have 
doubled  her  own  anxiety.  "  What !  choose  an  acknowl- 
edged madman,  sentenced  to  death,  to  be  her  closest  coun- 
sellor ! "  "  And,"  the  duchess  would  add,  talking  to  her- 
self, "  a  man  capable,  in  the  future,  of  doing  such  strange 

396 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

things  I  "  Ferrante  was  in  the  duchess's  drawing-room  when 
the  count  entered  it  to  inform  her  of  the  prince's  conversa- 
tion with  Rassi.  She  had  much  ado,  after  the  count's  de- 
parture, in  preventing  Ferrante  from  proceeding  instantly 
to  the  execution  of  his  terrible  project. 

"  I  am  strong  now,"  cried  the  crazy  fellow.  "  I  have  no 
doubt  at  all  as  to  the  legitimacy  of  my  action." 

"  But  in  the  moment  of  rage  which  must  inevitably  fol- 
low, Fabrizio  would  be  put  to  death." 

"  Well,  then  he  would  be  spared  the  danger  of  his  de- 
scent. It  is  possible,  it  is  even  easy,"  he  added,  "  but  the 
young  man  has  had  no  practice." 

The  marriage  of  the  Marchese  Crescenzi's  sister  was  duly 
celebrated,  and  at  the  fete  given  on  that  occasion,  the  duchess 
was  able  to  meet  Clelia,  and  talk  to  her,  without  rousing  the 
suspicions  of  well-bred  lookers-on.  In  the  garden,  whither 
the  two  ladies  had  betaken  themselves  to  get  a  moment's 
breath  of  air,  the  duchess  herself  gave  Clelia  the  packet  of 
ropes. 

These  ropes,  most  carefully  made  of  hemp  and  wool 
mixed,  and  knotted,  were  very  slight,  and  fairly  flexible. 
Ludovico  had  tested  their  strength,  and  every  yard  of  them 
would  safely  carry  eight  hundredweight.  They  had  been 
compressed  into  several  packets,  exactly  resembling  quarto 
volumes.  Clelia  took  possession  of  them,  and  promised 
the  duchess  she  would  do  everything  that  was  humanly  pos- 
sible to  get  them  into  the  Farnese  Tower. 

"  But  your  natural  timidity  alarms  me ;  and  besides," 
added  the  duchess  politely,  "  what  interest  can  you  feel  in 
a  man  you  do  not  know  ?  " 

"  Monsignore  del  Dongo  is  unfortunate,  and  I  promise 
you  that  he  shall  be  saved  by  me." 

But  the  duchess,  who  had  no  particular  confidence  in  the 
presence  of  mind  of  a  young  lady  of  twenty,  had  taken  other 
precautions,  which  she  took  care  not  to  reveal  to  the  gov- 
ernor's daughter.  As  may  naturally  be  supposed,  the  said 
governor  was  present  at  the  festivities  in  honour  of  the 
marriage  of  the  Marchese  Crescenzi's  sister.  The  duchess 
said  to  herself  that  if  she  could  give  him  a  strong  narcotic, 

397 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

it  might  be  concluded,  on  the  first  blush,  that  he  had  been 
seized  with  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  and  then,  instead  of  putting 
him  into  his  carriage  to  take  him  back  to  the  citadel,  she 
might,  by  dint  of  some  little  cunning,  contrive  to  have  him 
carried  in  a  litter,  which  should  chance  to  be  in  the  house  in 
which  the  guests  were  assembled.  There,  too,  should  be 
found  intelligent  men,  dressed  as  workmen  employed  about 
the  festivities,  who,  in  the  general  confusion,  should 
obligingly  offer  themselves  to  carry  the  sick  man  up  to  his 
palace  on  the  height.  These  men,  headed  by  Ludovico,  car- 
ried a  considerable  quantity  of  rope,  skilfully  concealed 
about  their  persons.  It  will  be  observed  that  since  she  had 
been  seriously  considering  the  subject  of  Fabrizio's  flight, 
the  duchess  had  quite  lost  her  head.  The  peril  in  which  that 
beloved  being  stood  was  more  than  she  could  bear,  and 
above  all,  it  had  lasted  too  long.  By  the  very  excess  of  her 
precautions,  as  we  shall  see,  she  almost  brought  about  the 
failure  of  his  escape.  Everything  was  carried  out  as  she  had 
planned,  with  this  single  exception — that  the  effect  of  the 
narcotic  was  far  too  powerful.  Every  one,  even  professional 
men,  believed  the  general  had  an  attack  of  apoplexy. 

Fortunately  Clelia,  in  her  despair,  never  for  a  moment 
suspected  the  duchess's  criminal  attempt.  So  great  was  the 
confusion,  when  the  litter  in  which  the  general  lay  half  dead 
was  borne  into  the  citadel,  that  no  objection  was  made  to 
the  entrance  of  Ludovico  and  his  men,  and  they  were  only 
subjected  to  a  purely  formal  search  on  the  "  Bridge  of  the 
Slave."  When  they  had  carried  the  general  to  his  bed,  they 
were  taken  to  the  servants'  quarters,  and  hospitably  enter- 
tained. But  after  the  meal,  which  did  not  end  till  toward 
morning,  they  were  informed  that  according  to  the  rules  of 
the  prison,  they  must  be  locked  up  for  the  remainder  of  the 
night  in  one  of  the  lower  rooms  of  the  palace.  After  daylight 
the  next  morning  they  would  be  set  at  liberty  by  the  gov- 
ernor's lieutenant. 

The  men  had  contrived  to  convey  the  ropes  they  had 
been  carrying  to  Ludovico.  But  Ludovico  found  great  dif- 
ficulty in  attracting  Clelia's  attention  for  a  moment.  At  last, 
as  she  was  passing  out  of  one  room  into  another,  he  made 

398 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

her  see  that  he  was  laying  the  packets  of  rope  in  a  dark 
corner  in  one  of  the  drawing-rooms  on  the  first  floor.  Clelia 
was  profoundly  impressed  by  this  strange  incident,  and  hor- 
rible suspicions  at  once  started  up  in  her  mind. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  she  to  Ludovico,  and  when  he 
gave  her  a  very  ambiguous  answer  she  added : 

"  I  ought  to  have  you  arrested.  Either  you  or  those  em- 
ploying you  have  poisoned  my  father.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  this  in- 
stant, what  poison  you  have  used,  so  that  the  doctor  of  the 
citadel  may  give  him  the  proper  remedies!  Confess  in- 
stantly, or  else  neither  you  nor  your  accomplices  shall  ever 
leave  this  citadel  again." 

"  The  signora  does  wrong  to  be  alarmed,"  replied  Ludo- 
vico, with  the  most  perfect  gfrace  and  civility,  "  There  is 
no  question  of  poison  at  all.  Some  one  has  imprudently 
given  the  general  a  dose  of  laudanum,  and  the  servant  com- 
missioned to  commit  this  crime  has  apparently  put  a  few 
drops  too  many  into  the  glass.  This  will  cause  us  eternal 
remorse.  But  the  signora  may  rest  assured  that — thank 
Heaven  for  it ! — there  is  no  danger  of  any  sort.  The  gov- 
ernor must  be  treated  for  having  taken  an  overdose  of  lau- 
danum by  mistake.  But  I  have  the  honour  of  assuring  the  si- 
gnorina,  once  more,  that  the  footman  employed  about  the 
crime  used  no  real  poisons,  such  as  those  used  by  Barbone 
when  he  tried  to  make  away  with  Monsignore  Fabrizio. 
There  has  been  no  attempt  to  avenge  the  danger  run  by 
Monsignore  Fabrizio ;  all  the  clumsy  footman  was  given  was 
a  flask  of  laudanum.  I  swear  that  to  the  signorina  on  my 
oath.  But  of  course  she  understands  that  if  I  were  cross- 
questioned  officially  I  should  deny  everything.  Besides,  if 
the  signorina  were  to  speak  to  any  one,  even  to  the  good 
Don  Cesare,  either  of  laudanum  or  of  poison,  Fabrizio 
would  be  slain  by  the  sig^orina's  own  hand.  She  would 
make  any  attempt  at  flight  impossible,  and  the  signorina 
knows,  better  than  I,  that  the  people  who  desire  to  poison 
Monsignore  will  not  use  laudanum  only,  and  she  knows,  too, 
that  a  certain  person  has  only  granted  one  month's  grace, 
and  that  more  than  one  week  has  already  passed  by  since 
the  fatal  order  was  received.     Therefore,  if  she  has  me 

399 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

arrested,  or  if  she  even  says  a  single  word  to  Don  Cesare, 
or  any  other  person,  she  will  throw  back  all  our  undertak- 
ings for  much  more  than  a  month,  and  I  speak  the  truth 
when  I  say  that  she  will  be  killing  Monsignore  Fabrizio 
with  her  own  hand." 

Clelia  was  terrified  by  the  strange  calm  with  which  Ludo- 
vico  spoke. 

"  So  here  I  am,"  she  thought,  "  in  close  conversation 
with  a  man  who  has  poisoned  my  father,  and  who  addresses 
me  with  the  utmost  politeness ;  and  it  is  love  which  has  led 
me  into  all  these  crimes ! " 

So  great  was  her  remorse  that  she  had  hardly  strength 
to  speak.    She  said  to  Ludovico : 

"  I  am  going  to  lock  you  up  in  this  room.  I  must  run 
and  tell  the  doctor  that  the  illness  is  caused  by  laudanum. 
But,  great  heavens !  how  am  I  to  tell  him  that  I  have  found 
it  out  myself!  Then  I  will  come  back  and  release  you. 
But,"  said  Clelia,  hurrying  back  from  the  door,  "  did  Fa- 
brizio know  anything  about  this  laudanum  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  signorina.  He  never  would  have  con- 
sented. And  besides,  what  was  the  good  of  confiding  in  an 
unnecessary  person  ?  We  act  with  the  strictest  caution ;  our 
object  is  to  save  Monsignore  Fabrizio,  who  will  be  poisoned 
within  three  weeks.  The  order  has  been  g^ven  by  a  person 
whose  will  meets,  as  a  rule,  with  no  obstacles.  But  if  the 
signorina  must  know  all,  it  is  believed  that  the  duty  has 
been  confided  to  the  terrible  Chief-Justice  Rassi ! " 

Clelia  fled  in  horror.  She  had  such  confidence  in  Don 
Cesare's  perfect  uprightness  that  she  ventured  to  tell  him, 
with  a  certain  amount  of  reticence,  that  the  general  had 
been  given  laudanum,  and  nothing  more.  Without  replying, 
without  asking  a  question,  Don  Cesare  hastened  to  the 
doctor. 

Clelia  returned  to  the  drawing-room  into  which  she  had 
locked  Ludovico,  intending  to  ply  him  with  questions  con- 
cerning the  laudanum.  She  did  not  find  him  there ;  he  had 
contrived  to  escape.  Lying  on  a  table,  she  perceived  a  purse 
of  sequins  and  a  little  box  containing  several  sorts  of 
poisons.   The  sight  of  the  poison  made  her  shudder,    "  How 

400 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

can  I  be  sure,"  she  thought,  "  that  nothing  but  laudanum  has 
been  administered  to  my  father,  and  that  the  duchess  has 
not  tried  to  avenge  herself  for  the  attempt  made  by  Bar- 
bone? 

"  Great  God !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  holding  intercourse 
witH  my  father's  poisoners,  and  I  have  allowed  them  to 
escape.  And  perhaps,  if  that  man  had  been  closely  ques- 
tioned, he  would  have  confessed  to  something  more  than 
laudanum." 

Bursting  into  tears,  Clelia  instantly  fell  upon  her  knees, 
and  prayed  fervently  to  the  Madonna. 

Meanwhile  the  doctor  of  the  citadel,  greatly  astonished 
by  the  information  conveyed  to  him  by  Don  Cesare,  accord- 
ing to  which  laudanum  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  ad- 
ministered suitable  remedies,  which  soon  removed  the  most 
alarming  symptoms.  At  daybreak  the  general  came  to  his 
senses  a  little.  His  first  act  on  returning  to  consciousness 
was  to  pour  volleys  of  abuse  on  the  colonel,  his  second  in 
command  of  the  citadel,  who  had  ventured,  while  the  gen- 
eral lay  unconscious,  to  give  a  few  orders  of  the  most  simple 
description. 

The  governor  then  flew  into  a  violent  rage  with  a  kitch- 
en maid  who  had  brought  him  a  bowl  of  broth,  and  who 
ventured  to  pronounce  the  word  "  apoplexy." 

"  Is  a  man  of  my  age,"  he  exclaimed,  "  likely  to  have  an 
apoplexy?  Only  my  bitterest  enemies  could  possibly  take 
pleasure  in  putting  such  a  story  about.  Besides,  have  I  been 
bled,  so  as  to  give  even  slanderers  a  right  to  talk  about 
apoplexy  ?  " 

Fabrizio,  deep  in  preparations  for  his  own  departure, 
could  not  conceive  the  meaning  of  the  strange  noises  that 
filled  the  citadel  when  the  governor  was  carried  back  to  it 
half  dead.  At  first  he  fancied  his  sentence  had  been  altered, 
and  that  he  was  about  to  be  put  to  death.  Then,  when 
nobody  appeared  in  his  room,  he  concluded  that  Clelia  had 
been  betrayed,  that  the  ropes  which  she  had  probably  been 
conveying  back  into  the  fortress  had  been  taken  from  her, 
and  that,  in  fact,  all  the  plans  for  his  escape  had  been  ren- 
dered impossible.    At  dawn  the  following  morning  he  saw 

401 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

an  unknown  man  enter  his  room,  and,  without  uttering  a 
word,  set  down  a  basket  of  fruit.  Under  the  fruit  was  hidden 
a  letter,  couched  in  the  following  terms : 

"  Filled  with  the  bitterest  remorse  for  what  has  been 
done — not,  thank  Heaven,  by  my  consent,  but  in  conse- 
quence of  an  idea  of  mine — I  have  made  a  vow  to  the  Most 
Holy  Virgin  that  if,  by  her  blessed  intercession,  my  father's 
life  is  saved,  I  will  never  again  refuse  to  obey  an  order  of 
his.  I  shall  marry  the  marchese  as  soon  as  he  requires  me 
to  do  it,  and  I  shall  never  see  you  again. 

"  Nevertheless,  I  believe  ^  it  to  be  my  duty  to  carry 
through  that  which  has  been  begun.  On  Sunday  next,  when 
you  come  back  from  mass,  to  which  you  will  be  taken  at  my 
request — forget  not  to  prepare  your  soul  for  death ;  you  may 
lose  your  life  in  your  difficult  undertaking — when  you  come 
back  from  mass,  I  say,  do  all  you  can  to  delay  the  moment 
when  you  re-enter  your  room.  There  you  will  find  that 
which  is  indispensable  for  your  intended  enterprise.  If  you 
perish  it  will  break  my  heart!  Will  you  be  able  to  accuse 
me  of  having  had  a  hand  in  your  death  ?  Has  not  the  duchess 
herself  told  me,  over  and  over  again,  that  the  Raversi  fac- 
tion is  winning  the  day?  It  is  bent  on  binding  the  prince 
to  it  by  an  act  of  cruelty  which  will  separate  him  forever 
from  Count  Mosca.  The  duchess  has  sworn  to  me,  with 
tears,  that  no  resource  save  this  remains.  If  you  make  no 
attempt  you  will  certainly  perish,  I  can  not  look  at  you 
again ;  I  have  made  my  vow.  But  if,  toward  the  evening  on 
Sunday,  you  see  me  at  the  usual  window,  dressed  entirely 
in  black,  it  will  be  a  sign  that  on  the  following  night  every- 
thing will  be  ready,  as  far  as  my  feeble  powers  will  permit. 
After  eleven  o'clock — perhaps  at  midnight,  or  one  in  the 
morning — a  little  lamp  will  stand  in  my  window.  That  will 
be  the  decisive  moment ;  commend  your  soul  to  your  patron 
saint,  put  on  the  priestly  habit  with  which  you  are  provided, 
and  depart. 

"  Farewell,  Fabrizio !  I  shall  be  at  my  prayers,  and  shed- 
ding the  bitterest  tears,  you  may  be  sure  of  that,  while  you 
are  running  these  terrible  risks.  If  you  perish  I  shall  not 
survive  you — great  God,  what  have  I  said?     But  if  you 

402 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

succeed,  I  shall  never  see  your  face  again.  On  Sunday,  after 
mass,  you  will  find  in  your  prison  the  money,  the  poisons, 
the  ropes  sent  you  by  that  terrible  woman  who  loves  you 
so  passionately,  and  who  has  told  me,  three  times  over,  that 
this  thing  must  be  done.  May  God  and  the  blessed  Ma- 
donna preserve  you ! " 

Fabio  Conti  was  a  jailer  whose  soul  was  always  anxious, 
miserable,  wretched,  constantly  dreaming  that  some  prisoner 
was  escaping  from  his  clutches.  He  was  loathed  by  every 
soul  in  the  citadel.  But  misfortune  inspires  all  men  with 
the  same  sentiments,  and  the  unhappy  prisoners,  even  those 
chained  up  in  dungeons  three  feet  high  and  wide,  and  eight 
feet  long,  in  which  they  could  neither  stand  nor  sit  upright — 
all  the  prisoners,  even  these,  I  say,  joined  in  having  a  Te 
Deum  sung  at  their  expense,  when  they  heard  that  the  gov- 
ernor was  out  of  danger.  Two  or  three  of  the  poor  wretches 
even  wrote  sonnets  in  honour  of  Fabio  Conti.  Such  is  the 
effect  of  misery  upon  mankind.  Let  that  man  blame  them 
whose  fate  has  condemned  him  to  spend  a  year  in  a  dun- 
geon three  feet  high,  with  eight  ounces  of  bread  a  day,  and 
fasting  on  Fridays! 

Clelia,  who  never  left  her  father's  room  except  to  say  her 
prayers  in  the  chapel,  announced  that  the  governor  had  de- 
cided that  the  rejoicings  were  not  to  take  place  until  the 
Sunday.  On  that  Sunday  morning,  Fabrizio  was  present  at 
the  mass  and  the  Te  Deum.  In  the  evening  there  were  fire- 
works, and  the  soldiers  in  the  lower  halls  of  the  castle  re- 
ceived wine,  four  times  as  much  as  the  quantity  authorized 
by  the  governor.  Some  unknown  person  had  even  sent  in 
several  barrels  of  brandy,  which  the  soldiers  broached.  The 
soldiers  who  were  drinking  themselves  drunk  were  too 
good-natured  to  allow  their  five  comrades,  who  were  doing 
sentry  duty  on  the  palace,  to  suffer  from  that  fact.  As  fast 
as  they  reached  their  sentry-boxes  a  trusty  servant  gave  them 
wine.  Further,  some  unknown  hand  provided  those  on 
duty  from  midnight  onward  with  a  glass  of  brandy,  and  (as 
was  ultimately  proved  at  the  trial)  at  each  glass  the  brandy 
bottle  was  forgotten  in  the  sentry-box. 

The  merry-making  lasted  longer  than  Clelia  had  ex- 

403 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

pected,  and  it  was  not  till  toward  one  o'clock  that  Fabrizio, 
who,  more  than  a  week  previously,  had  sawn  through  the 
bars  of  the  window  which  did  not  look  toward  the  aviary, 
began  to  take  down  the  wooden  screen.  He  was  working 
almost  over  the  heads  of  the  sentries  on  the  governor's  pal- 
ace, but  they  heard  nothing.  All  he  had  done  to  the  im- 
mensely long  rope  necessary  for  carrying  him  down  the  ter- 
rible descent  of  a  hundred  and  eighty  feet  was  to  make  a  few 
fresh  knots.  He  had  slung  this  line  over  his  shoulder ;  it  was 
very  much  in  his  way,  on  account  of  its  bulk ;  the  knots 
prevented  it  from  falling  together,  and  it  stood  out  more 
than  eighteen  inches  from  his  body.  "  This  will  be  my  great 
difficulty,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself. 

Having  arranged  this  rope  as  best  he  could,  Fabrizio 
took  the  length  which  he  intended  should  carry  him  down 
the  thirty-five  feet  between  his  window  and  the  terrace  on 
which  the  governor's  palace  stood.  But  seeing  he  could 
hardly,  drunk  though  the  sentinels  were,  come  down  on  the 
very  tops  of  their  heads,  he  got  out,  as  we  have  already 
said,  by  the  second  window  of  his  room,  which  looked  on  to 
the  roof  of  a  sort  of  huge  guard-room.  Some  sick  whim  of 
General  Fabio  Conti's  had  filled  this  old  guard-room,  which 
had  not  been  used  for  a  century,  with  a  couple  of  hundred 
soldiers,  whom  he  ordered  up  as  soon  as  he  could  speak. 
He  declared  that  the  people  who  had  tried  to  poison  him 
would  murder  him  in  his  bed,  and  that  these  two  hundred 
soldiers  must  protect  him.  The  effect  of  this  unexpected 
measure  on  Clelia's  feelings  may  be  imagined.  The  pious- 
hearted  girl  was  very  deeply  conscious  of  the  extent  to  which 
she  was  deceiving  her  father,  and  a  father  who  had  just 
been  very  nearly  poisoned  in  the  interests  of  the  prisoner 
whom  she  loved.  The  unexpected  advent  of  these  two  hun- 
dred men  almost  struck  her  as  a  decree  of  Providence,  for- 
bidding her  to  go  forward,  and  restore  Fabrizio  to  liberty. 

But  the  prisoner's  approaching  death  was  the  universal 
topic  of  conversation  in  Parma.  Even  at  the  festivities  in 
honour  of  the  marriage  of  Sigtiorina  Julia  Crescenzi,  the 
melancholy  subject  had  been  discussed.  Since  a  man  of  Fa- 
brizio's  birth,  imprisoned  for  such  a  trifle  as  an  unlucky 

404 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

sword  thrust  given  to  an  actor,  was  not  set  at  liberty  after 
nine  months'  detention,  although  he  was  favoured  by  the 
Prime  Minister,  there  must  be  something  political  about  his 
story.  That  being  so,  it  was  said,  there  was  no  use  in  think- 
ing more  about  it.  If  it  did  not  suit  the  authorities  to  put 
him  to  death  in  the  public  square,  he  would  soon  die  of 
sickness. 

A  locksmith  who  had  been  sent  for  to  do  some  work  in 
General  Fabio  Conti's  palace  referred  to  Fabrizio  as  a  pris- 
oner who  had  been  put  to  death  long  since,  and  whose  death 
was  concealed  for  reasons  of  policy.  When  Clelia  heard 
that  man  speak,  she  made  up  her  mind. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

In  the  course  of  that  day  Fabrizio  was  assailed,  several 
times  over,  by  certain  serious  and  disagreeable  reflections. 
But  as  he  heard  the  hours  strike,  each  one  of  which  brought 
him  nearer  to  the  moment  of  action,  he  felt  himself  grow 
brisk  and  cheerful.  The  duchess  had  written  to  him  that 
the  fresh  air  was  sure  to  overcome  him,  and  that  he  would 
hardly  have  got  outside  his  prison  before  he  would  find  it 
impossible  to  walk.  In  that  case  it  would  certainly  be  better 
to  run  the  risk  of  being  retaken  than  to  throw  himself  from 
the  top  of  a  wall  a  hundred  and  eighty  feet  high.  "  If  that 
misfortune  overtakes  me,"  said  Fabrizio  to  himself,  "  I  will 
lie  down  close  to  the  parapet ;  I  will  sleep  for  an  hour,  and  I 
will  start  again.  As  I  have  sworn  my  oath  to  Clelia,  I  would 
rather  fall  from  the  top  of  a  rampart,  however  high,  than 
spend  my  life  considering  the  taste  of  every  bit  of  bread  I  eat. 
What  horrible  suflfering  there  must  be  at  the  end  when  a 
man  dies  of  poison!  And  Fabio  Conti  would  make  no 
bones  about  it ;  he  would  just  give  me  the  arsenic  with  which 
he  kills  the  rats  in  his  fortress," 

Toward  midnight  one  of  those  thick  white  fogs  which  the 
Po  sometimes  casts  over  its  banks  rose  over  the  town,  and 
thence  to  the  esplanade  and  the  bastions,  in  the  midst  of 
which  stands  the  great  tower  of  the  citadel.  Fabrizio 
thought  he  perceived  that  the  little  acacias  round  the  sol- 
diers' gardens,  at  the  foot  of  the  great  wall  below,  were 
no  longer  visible.    "  This  is  capital !  "  thought  he  to  himself. 

A  little  after  the  stroke  of  half-past  twelve  the  tiny  lamp 
appeared  in  the  aviary  window.  Fabrizio  was  ready;  he 
crossed  himself,  then  he  fastened  the  thin  rope  which  was  to 
carry  him  down  the  twenty-five  feet  between  his  room  and 

406 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  platform  on  which  the  palace  stood  to  his  bed.  He 
reached  the  roof  of  the  guard-room  occupied,  since  the  pre- 
vious night,  by  the  two  hundred  extra  men  of  whom  we 
have  spoken,  without  any  mishap.  Unluckily,  at  that  hour 
— a.  quarter  to  one — the  soldiers  were  not  yet  asleep,  and 
while  Fabrizio  stepped  stealthily  over  the  great  curved  roof 
tiles  he  heard  them  saying  that  the  devil  was  on  their  roof, 
and  that  they  must  try  and  shoot  him  with  a  musket.  Some 
voices  declared  this  wish  to  be  exceedingly  impious ;  others 
said  that  if  they  fired  a  shot  without  killing  anything  the 
governor  would  put  them  all  in  prison  for  having  alarmed 
the  garrison  unnecessarily.  All  this  fine  discussion  caused 
Fabrizio  to  hurry  over  the  roof  as  quickly  as  he  could,  and 
thus  make  much  more  noise  than  he  might  have  done.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  when  he  passed,  clinging  to  his  rope,  in  front 
of  the  windows,  and  fortunately  for  him,  owing  to  the  pro- 
jection of  the  roof,  some  four  or  five  feet  away  from  them, 
they  were  all  bristling  with  bayonets.  Some  people  have 
declared  that  Fabrizio,  who  was  always  a  wild  fellow,  took  it 
into  his  head  to  play  the  devil's  part,  and  threw  a  handful  of 
sequins  to  the  soldiers.  He  certainly  did  scatter  sequins  all 
over  the  floor  of  his  room  and  across  the  platform,  as  he 
passed  from  the  Farnese  Tower  to  the  parapet,  on  the  chance 
of  their  distracting  the  attention  of  the  soldiers  who  might 
try  to  pursue  him. 

Once  he  had  reached  the  platform,  surrounded  by  sen- 
tries, who,  as  a  rule,  shouted  a  complete  sentence,  "  All's 
well  round  my  post,"  every  quarter  of  an  hour,  he  moved 
toward  the  western  parapet,  and  looked  about  for  the  new 
stone. 

What  appears  incredible,  and  might  induce  one  to  doubt 
the  facts,  if  their  consequences  had  not  been  witnessed  by 
a  whole  city,  is  that  the  sentries  along  the  parapet  did  not 
catch  sight  of  Fabrizio  and  lay  hands  on  him.  It  is  true 
that  the  fog  to  which  we  have  referred  was  beginning  to 
rise,  and  Fabrizio  has  related  that  when  he  was  on  the  plat- 
form the  fog  seemed  to  him  to  have  reached  half-way  up 
the  Farnese  Tower.  But  it  was  not  a  thick  fog,  and  he 
could  clearly  distinguish  the  sentries,  some  of  whom  were 

407 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

moving  about.  He  used  to  add  that,  driven  by  some  super- 
natural force,  he  placed  himself  boldly  between  two  sentries, 
not  very  far  from  each  other,  and  quietly  unwound  the  long 
rope  he  was  carrying  slung  round  his  body,  and  which  got 
entangled  twice  over.  It  took  him  a  long  time  to  disentangle 
it,  and  lay  it  out  upon  the  parapet.  He  could  hear  the  sol- 
diers talking  all  round  him,  and  was  quite  resolved  to  stab 
the  first  who  came  near  him.  "  I  was  not  in  the  least  agi- 
tated," he  used  to  add ;  "  I  seemed  to  myself  to  be  perform- 
ing some  ceremony." 

At  last  he  cleared  his  rope,  and  fastened  it  into  an  open- 
ing in  the  parapet,  made  for  the  rain-water  to  run  through. 
Then  he  climbed  on  to  the  parapet,  and  prayed  earnestly  to 
God.  Next,  like  a  hero  of  the  days  of  chivalry,  he  thought 
for  an  instant  of  Clelia.  "  What  a  different  man  I  am,"  said 
he  to  himself,  "  from  the  careless  and  libertine  Fabrizio  who 
came  into  this  place  nine  months  ago !  "  At  last  he  began  to 
let  himself  down  the  tremendous  height.  He  moved  me- 
chanically, he  said,  as  he  would  have  done  if  he  had  been 
coming  down  before  friends,  in  broad  daylight,  to  win  a 
wager.  About  midway  he  suddenly  felt  the  strength  in  his 
arms  fail ;  he  even  thinks  he  lost  his  grip  of  the  rope  for  a 
moment.  But  he  soon  grasped  it  again.  Perhaps,  he  said 
afterward,  he  held  on  to  the  brambles  against  which  he  was 
slipping  and  which  tore  him.  Every  now  and  then  he  felt 
a  most  agonizing  pain  between  his  shoulders,  which  almost 
took  away  his  breath.  The  undulating  motion  was  most  try- 
ing; he  was  constantly  being  swung  away  from  the  rope 
against  the  brambles ;  he  was  touched  by  several  birds  of  con- 
siderable size,  which  he  disturbed,  and  which  blundered 
against  him  as  they  flew  away.  He  took  the  first  of  these  for 
people  in  pursuit  of  him,  who  were  descending  from  the  cita- 
del in  the  same  manner,  and  made  ready  to  defend  himself. 
At  last  he  reached  the  base  of  the  great  tower,  unhurt,  except 
that  his  hands  were  bleeding.  He  related  that  over  the  lower 
half  of  the  tower  the  outward  slope  of  the  wall  was  of  great 
assistance  to  him.  He  rubbed  against  it  as  he  went  down, 
and  the  plants  growing  between  the  stones  held  him  up. 
When  he  reached  the  bottom  he  fell  on  an  acacia  in  the  sol- 

408 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

diers'  gardens,  which,  looking  at  it  from  above,  he  had  taken 
to  be  four  or  five  feet  high,  but  which  really  was  fifteen  or 
twenty.  A  drunken  man  who  was  sleeping  under  it  took 
him  for  a  robber.  When  Fabrizio  fell  out  of  this  tree  he 
almost  put  out  his  left  arm.  He  began  to  hurry  toward  the 
rampart,  but  according  to  his  own  story  his  legs  seemed 
made  of  wadding;  he  had  no  strength  left.  In  spite  of  the 
danger  he  sat  down,  and  drank  a  little  brandy  which  still 
remained  to  him.  For  some  minutes  he  slept,  so  soundly  as 
not  to  remember  where  he  was.  When  he  woke  up  he 
thought  he  was  in  his  room,  and  could  not  understand  how 
it  was  he  saw  trees.  At  last  the  awful  truth  dawned  on  him. 
Instantly  he  moved  toward  the  rampart,  and  reached  it  by  a 
wide  flight  of  steps.  A  sentry  was  snoring  in  his  box  close 
by.  He  found  a  cannon  lying  in  the  grass,  and  fastened  his 
third  rope  to  it.  It  was  a  little  too  short,  and  he  fell  into  a 
muddy  ditch,  with  about  a  foot  of  water  in  it.  Just  as  he  was 
getting  up,  and  trying  to  make  out  where  he  was,  he  felt  him- 
self seized  by  two  men ;  for  a  moment  he  was  alarmed,  but 
soon,  close  to  his  ear,  and  in  a  very  low  voice,  he  heard  the 
words,  "  Ah,  monsignore,  monsignore !  "  He  realized  dimly 
that  the  men  came  from  the  duchess,  and  instantly  he  fainted 
dead  away.  A  little  while  after  he  felt  himself  being  carried 
by  men  who  walked  swiftly  and  silently.  Then  they  stopped, 
which  terrified  him  very  much.  But  he  had  no  strength 
either  to  speak  or  to  open  his  eyes.  He  felt  somebody  em- 
brace him,  and  suddenly  he  recognised  the  perfume  of  the 
duchess's  clothes.  That  perfume  revived  him ;  he  was  able 
to  open  his  eyes  and  say  "  Ah,  dearest  friend !  "  and  then  he 
fainted  again. 

The  faithful  Bruno,  with  a  squad  of  police  officers,  all  de- 
voted to  the  count,  was  waiting  two  hundred  paces  off.  The 
count  himself  was  hiding  in  a  little  house  close  to  the  spot 
where  the  duchess  was  waiting.  He  would  not  have  hesi- 
tated, had  it  been  necessary,  to  draw  his  sword,  assisted  by 
several  half-pay  officers,  his  own  intimate  friends.  He  con- 
sidered himself  bound  to  save  Fabrizio's  life.  He  believed 
him  to  be  in  the  most  imminent  danger,  and  felt  the  prince 
would  have  signed  his  pardon  if  he  (Mosca)  had  not  com- 

409 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

mitted  the  folly  of  endeavouring  to  save  his  sovereigfn  from 
writing  another. 

Ever  since  midnight  the  duchess,  surrounded  by  men 
armed  to  the  teeth,  had  been  wandering  up  and  down,  in  dead 
silence,  close  to  the  citadel  ramparts.  She  could  not  stay 
quiet  for  an  instant;  she  expected  to  have  to  fight  to  save 
Fabrizio  from  his  pursuers.  Her  fervent  imagination  had 
inspired  her  with  a  hundred  precautions,  too  long  to  men- 
tion here,  and  all  of  them  incredibly  imprudent.  More  than 
eighty  persons  are  calculated  to  have  been  on  foot  that  night, 
expecting  to  fight  on  some  extraordinary  occasion.  Fortu- 
nately Ferrante  and  Ludovico  were  at  the  head  of  the  busi- 
ness, and  the  Minister  of  Police  was  not  hostile.  But  the 
count  himself  remarked  that  nobody  betrayed  the  duchess, 
and,  in  his  ministerial  capacity,  he  knew  nothing  at  all. 

The  duchess  utterly  lost  her  head  when  she  saw  Fabrizio. 
First  of  all  she  clasped  him  in  her  arms,  and  then,  when  she 
saw  he  was  covered  with  blood,  she  grew  beside  herself  with 
alarm.  The  blood  had  flowed  from  Fabrizio's  hands,  but  she 
thought  he  was  dangerously  hurt.  Helped  by  one  of  her 
servants,  she  was  taking  off  his  coat,  to  dress  his  wounds, 
when  Ludovico,  who  fortunately  was  present,  insisted  on 
placing  the  duchess  and  Fabrizio  in  one  of  the  little  car- 
riages, which  had  been  kept  hidden  in  a  garden  near  the 
gate  of  the  city,  and  they  started  full  gallop  to  get  across  the 
Po  at  Sacca.  Ferrante,  with  twenty  well-armed  men,  formed 
the  rear-guard,  and  had  staked  his  own  life  that  he  would 
stop  all  pursuit.  The  count  did  not  leave  the  vicinity  of  the 
citadel — and  then  alone  and  on  foot — till  two  hours  later, 
when  he  saw  that  nothing  was  stirring.  "  Now,"  said  he, 
**  I  am  steeped  in  high  treason,"  and  he  was  half  wild 
with  joy. 

Ludovico  hit  upon  the  excellent  idea  of  putting  a  young 
surgeon  attached  to  the  duchess's  household,  and  who  was 
very  much  of  Fabrizio's  build,  into  a  carriage. 

"  Fly,"  said  he  to  him,  "  toward  Bologna !  Blunder  as 
much  as  ever  you  can,  try  to  get  yourself  arrested,  then  re- 
fuse to  give  clear  answers,  and  end  by  owning  that  you  are 
Fabrizio  del  Dongo.    Above  all  things,  gain  time.    Use  all 

410 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

your  skill  to  be  as  stupid  as  you  can.  You  will  get  oflf  with 
a  month's  imprisonment,  and  the  duchess  will  give  you 
fifty  sequins," 

"  Does  anybody  think  of  money  when  it's  a  question  of 
serving  the  duchess  ?  " 

Off  he  started,  and  was  arrested  some  hours  later,  to  the 
deep  delight  of  General  Fabio  Conti  and  Rassi,  who  saw  his 
barony  take  to  itself  wings  and  fly  away  together  with  Fa- 
brizio's  peril. 

It  was  not  till  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  that  the  escape 
became  known  in  the  citadel,  and  it  was  ten  before  anybody 
dared  tell  the  prince.  So  well  had  the  duchess  been  served, 
that  in  spite  of  Fabrizio's  profound  slumber,  which  she 
took  for  a  dangerous  fainting  fit,  and  consequently  stopped 
the  carriage  three  times  over,  she  was  crossing  the  river  in 
a  boat  as  the  clock  struck  four.  Relays  of  horses  awaited 
them  on  the  farther  bank ;  they  drove  two  more  leagues  very 
swiftly,  then  they  were  stopped  for  more  than  an  hour  to 
verify  their  passports.  The  duchess  had  passports  of  every 
kind,  both  for  herself  and  Fabrizio,  but  she  was  half  mad 
that  day ;  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  give  ten  napoleons  to 
the  Austrian  police  official ;  she  took  his  hand  and  burst  into 
tears.  The  official,  very  much  startled,  did  all  his  verifica- 
tion over  again.  They  now  took  post-horses.  The  duchess 
paid  so  lavishly,  that  in  a  country,  where  every  stranger 
is  looked  at  doubtfully,  she  aroused  universal  suspicion. 
Once  more  Ludovico  came  to  the  rescue ;  he  declared  the 
duchess  was  mad  with  grief  on  account  of  the  long-con- 
tinued fever  of  young  Count  Mosca,  the  son  of  the  Prime 
Minister  of  Parma,  whom  she  was  taking  to  Pavia,  to  con- 
sult the  doctors  there. 

It  was  not  till  they  were  ten  leagues  beyond  the  Po  that 
the  prisoner  thoroughly  woke  up.  One  of  his  shoulders 
was  dislocated,  and  he  was  covered  with  abrasions.  The 
duchess  was  still  behaving  in  such  an  extraordinary  fashion 
that  the  host  of  the  village  inn  in  which  they  dined  thought 
he  had  to  do  with  one  of  the  imperial  princesses,  and  would 
have  rendered  her  the  honours  he  believed  to  be  her  due, 
when  Ludovico  warned  him  that  the  princess  would  cer- 

411 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

tainly  have  him  thrown  into  prison  if  he  ventured  to  have 
the  bells  rung. 

At  last,  toward  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  they  reached 
Piedmontese  soil.  Not  till  then  was  Fabrizio  in  perfect 
safety.  He  was  conveyed  to  a  little  village,  standing  ofif  the 
high-road,  his  hands  were  dressed ;  he  slept  for  a  few  hours 
longer. 

It  was  at  this  village  that  the  duchess  indulged  in  an 
action  which  was  not  only  a  hateful  one  from  the  moral 
point  of  view,  but  the  effect  of  which  on  the  tranquillity  of 
the  remainder  of  her  life  was  grievous  in  the  extreme.  Some 
weeks  before  Fabrizio's  escape,  on  a  day  when  the  whole  of 
Parma  had  betaken  itself  to  the  citadel  gates  to  try  and  catch 
sight  of  the  scaffold  being  erected  in  the  courtyard  for  his 
benefit,  the  duchess  had  shown  Ludovico,  who  had  become 
her  household  factotum,  the  secret  whereby  one  of  the 
stones  forming  the  bottom  of  the  famous  reservoir  attached 
to  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina,  that  work  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury to  which  we  have  already  referred,  might  be  driven  out 
of  its  skilfully  concealed  iron  bed.  While  Fabrizio  was 
sleeping  soundly  in  the  little  village  tavern,  the  duchess  sent 
for  Ludovico.  So  strange  were  the  glances  she  cast  at  him 
that  he  thought  she  had  lost  her  reason. 

"  No  doubt  you  expect  me  to  give  you  several  thousand 
francs,"  said  she.  "  Well,  I  am  not  going  to  do  that.  You 
are  a  poet ;  you  would  soon  have  squandered  all  the  money. 
I  shall  give  you  the  little  property  called  the  Ricciarda,  a 
league  from  Casal  Maggiore."  Beside  himself  with  delight, 
Ludovico  cast  himself  at  her  feet,  protesting,  in  heartfelt 
accents,  that  it  was  not  for  the  sake  of  earning  money  that 
he  had  helped  to  save  Monsignore  Fabrizio,  and  that  he  had 
always  loved  him  with  a  special  affection  since  the  time 
when  he  had  been  third  coachman  to  the  duchess,  and  had 
had  the  honour  of  driving  his  carriage.  When  the  man, 
who  really  was  a  faithful-hearted  fellow,  thought  he  had  suf- 
ficiently encroached  on  this  great  lady's  time,  he  would 
have  taken  his  leave,  but  she,  with  flashing  eyes,  said  to  him, 
"Stay  here!" 

She  was  walking  silently  up  and  down  the  tavern  room, 

412 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

from  time  to  time  casting  the  most  extraordinary  glances  on 
Ludovico.  At  last  the  man,  perceiving  no  apparent  end  to 
her  strange  march,  ventured  to  address  his  mistress : 

"  The  signora  has  granted  me  such  an  excessive  gift,  so 
far  beyond  anything  a  poor  man  like  myself  could  have  im- 
agined, and  above  all  so  immensely  superior  to  the  poor  serv- 
ices I  have  had  the  honour  of  doing  her,  that  I  think  I  can 
not,  in  all  conscience,  keep  the  lands  of  the  Ricciarda.  I 
have  the  honour  to  return  the  property  to  the  signora,  and 
to  entreat  her  to  grant  me  a  pension  of  four  hundred  francs  a 
year." 

"  How  many  times  in  your  life,"  said  she  to  him,  with 
the  gloomiest  air  of  pride,  "  how  many  times  have  you  heard 
it  said  that  I  reHnquished  a  plan  I  had  once  mentioned  ? " 

Having  said  these  words,  the  duchess  walked  up  and 
down  again  for  some  minutes,  then,  stopping  suddenly  short, 
she  cried : 

"  It  is  by  accident,  and  because  he  won  that  little  girl's 
favour,  that  Fabrizio's  life  has  been  saved.  If  he  had  not 
made  himself  charming  he  would  have  died ;  can  you  deny 
me  that  ?  "  she  cried,  sailing  down  upon  Ludovico,  her  eyes 
flashing  with  the  darkest  rage.  Ludovico  stepped  several 
paces  backward,  and  concluded  she  was  certainly  mad,  a 
fact  which  inspired  him  with  serious  alarm  regarding  his 
ownership  of  the  Ricciarda. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  duchess,  changing  suddenly  to 
the  gentlest  and  most  cheerful  tone,  "  I  desire  my  good 
people  at  Sacca  shall  have  a  delightful  day — one  they  shall 
remember  for  ages.  You  shall  go  back  to  Sacca.  Have 
you  any  objection?  Do  you  think  you  will  be  in  any  dan- 
ger?" 

"  Very  little,  signora.  Nobody  in  Sacca  will  ever  let  out 
that  I  have  been  in  attendance  on  Monsignore  Fabrizio,  and 
besides,  if  I  may  venture  to  say  so  to  the  signora,  I  am 
longing  to  see  my  property  of  the  Ricciarda.  It  seems  so 
comical  to  me  to  be  a  landowner." 

"  Your  pleasure  delights  me.  I  think  the  tenant  of  the 
Ricciarda  owes  me  some  two  or  three  years  of  his  rent.  I 
make  him  a  present  of  one  half  of  what  he  owes  me ;  the  other 

413 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

half  of  all  his  arrears  I  give  to  you,  but  on  this  condition: 
You  will  go  to  Sacca,  you  will  say  that  the  day  after  to- 
morrow is  the  fete  day  of  one  of  my  patron  saints,  and  the 
night  after  your  arrival  you  will  have  my  house  illuminated 
in  the  most  splendid  manner.  Spare  neither  money  nor 
pains.  Recollect  that  this  has  to  do  with  the  greatest  happi- 
ness of  my  life. 

"  I  have  been  making  ready  for  this  illumination  for  a 
long  time.  For  more  than  three  months  I  have  been  col- 
lecting everything  needful  for  this  splendid  festivity  in  the 
cellars  of  my  house.  I  have  deposited  all  the  fireworks  for 
a  magnificent  display  in  the  gardener's  care.  You  will  have 
them  let  off  on  the  terrace  facing  the  Po.  There  are  eighty- 
nine  great  hogsheads  of  wine  in  my  cellars.  You  will  set 
up  eighty-nine  fountains  running  wine  in  my  park.  If  a 
single  bottle  remains  undrunk  on  the  following  day,  I  shall 
say  you  do  not  love  Fabrizio.  When  the  fountains  of  wine 
are  running,  and  the  illumination  and  the  fireworks  are  in 
full  swing,  you  will  slip  away  cautiously,  for  it  is  possible, 
and  that  is  my  hope,  that  in  Parma  all  these  fine  doings  will 
be  taken  as  an  insult." 

"  That  is  not  possible  only ;  it  is  certain.  And  it  is  cer- 
tain, too,  that  Chief- Justice  Rassi,  who  signed  monsignore's 
sentence,  will  be  bursting  with  rage.  And,"  added  Ludo- 
vico  somewhat  timidly,  "  if  the  signora  desired  to  give  her 
poor  servant  even  a  greater  pleasure  than  that  of  receiving 
half  the  arrears  of  the  Ricciarda,  she  would  give  me  leave 
to  play  a  little  joke  upon  that  same  Rassi." 

"  You're  a  good  fellow,"  exclaimed  the  duchess,  de- 
lighted. "  But  I  absolutely  forbid  you  to  do  anything 
at  all  to  Rassi.  I  intend  to  have  him  publicly  hanged  at 
some  future  time.  As  for  yourself,  try  not  to  get  your- 
self arrested  at  Sacca;  everything  would  be  spoiled  if  I 
lost  you." 

"  Me,  signora !  Once  I  have  said  I  am  keeping  the  feast 
of  one  of  the  Signora  Duchessa's  patron  saints,  you  may 
be  sure  that  if  the  police  sent  thirty  gendarmes  to  interfere, 
not  one  of  them  would  be  on  his  horse  by  the  time  they 
reached  the  red  cross  in  the  middle  of  the  village.    They  are 

414 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

not  to  be  trifled  with,  those  Sacca  men — first-rate  smugglers 
every  one  of  them,  and  they  worship  the  signora." 

"  Well,"  the  duchess  began  again  with  a  curiously  off- 
hand" air,  "  while  I  give  wine  to  my  good  people  at  Sacca,  I 
want  to  drench  the  people  of  Parma.  On  the  very  night 
when  my  castle  is  lighted  up,  take  the  best  horse  in  my 
stables,  hurry  off  to  my  palace  in  Parma,  and  open  the 
reservoir." 

"  Ah,  that's  a  fine  idea  of  the  signora's,"  cried  Ludovico 
in  fits  of  laughter,  "  wine  for  the  good  folks  at  Sacca,  water 
for  the  Parmese  townsmen,  who  had  made  so  certain,  the 
wretches,  that  monsignore  was  going  to  be  poisoned  like 
poor  L— — ." 

Ludovico  could  not  get  over  his  delight.  The  duchess 
watched  his  ecstasies  with  evident  satisfaction.  "  Wine  for 
the  Sacca  men,"  he  kept  saying,  "  water  for  the  Parmese ! 
The  signora  doubtless  knows,  better  than  I  do,  that  twenty 
years  ago,  when  the  reservoir  was  imprudently  emptied,  the 
water  ran  a  foot  deep  in  many  of  the  streets  of  Parma." 

"  And  water  for  the  Parmese,"  answered  the  duchess, 
laughing.  "  The  square  before  the  citadel  would  have  been 
crammed  with  people  if  Fabrizio's  head  had  been  cut  off. 
.  .  .  Everybody  calls  him  the  great  culprit.  .  .  .  But  above 
all  things,  do  it  cunningly !  Let  no  living  being  ever  know 
that  the  inundation  was  your  work,  nor  done  by  my  order. 
Fabrizio,  even  the  count  himself,  must  remain  in  ignorance 
of  this  wild  joke.  .  .  .  But  I  was  forgetting  my  poor  people 
at  Sacca.  Go  you,  and  write  a  letter  to  my  man  of  business, 
which  I  will  sign.  You  will  tell  him  he  is  to  distribute  a 
hundred  sequins  among  the  poor  of  Sacca,  in  honour  of  my 
patron  saint,  and  that  he  is  to  take  all  your  orders  about  the 
illumination,  the  fireworks,  and  the  wine.  Above  all  things, 
be  sure  there  is  not  one  full  bottle  in  my  cellars  the  next 
morning." 

"  The  signora's  steward  will  only  find  one  difficulty.  The 
signora  has  owned  the  castle  now  for  five  years,  and  she  has 
not  left  ten  poor  persons  in  Sacca." 

"  And  water  for  the  Parmese !  "  quoth  the  duchess,  hum- 
ming it  like  a  tune.    "  How  shall  you  carry  out  my  joke?  " 

415 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  I  see  my  plan  quite  clearly.  I  shall  start  from  Sacca 
at  nine  o'clock.  At  half  past  ten  my  horse  will  be  at  the 
inn  of  the  Three  Blockheads  on  the  road  to  Casal  Mag- 
giore,  and  my  property  of  the  Ricciarda.  At  eleven  I  shall 
be  in  my  room  at  the  palace,  and  at  a  quarter  past  the  towns- 
folk of  Parma  will  have  water,  and  more  than  they  want  of 
it,  to  drink  the  great  culprit's  health.  Ten  minutes  later  I 
shall  go  out  of  the  city  by  the  Bologna  road;  as  I  pass  it 
by  I  shall  make  a  deep  bow  to  the  citadel  on  which  mon- 
signore's  bravery  and  the  signora's  wit  have  just  heaped 
dishonour.  I  shall  take  a  country  path  with  which  I  am 
well  acquainted,  and  so  I  shall  make  my  way  back  to  the 
Ricciarda." 

Ludovico  raised  his  eyes  to  the  duchess's  face,  and  felt 
a  thrill  of  terror.  She  was  staring  fixedly  at  the  bare  wall, 
six  paces  from  her,  and  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  there 
was  something  awful  in  her  glance.  "  Ah,  my  poor  land !  " 
thought  Ludovico  to  himself.  "  She  certainly  is  mad."  The 
duchess  looked  at  him  and  guessed  his  thought. 

"  Aha,  Signor  Ludovico,  the  great  poet !  You  would 
like  the  gift  in  writing.  Fetch  me  a  sheet  of  paper."  Ludo- 
vico did  not  wait  for  a  repetition  of  the  injunction,  and  the 
duchess  wrote  out,  in  her  own  hand,  a  lengthy  acknowledg- 
ment, antedated  by  twelve  months,  whereby  she  declared  she 
had  received  the  sum  of  eighty  thousand  francs  from  Ludo- 
vico San-Michele,  and  had  given  him  the  Ricciarda  as  se- 
curity for  that  sum.  If,  at  the  expiration  of  twelve  months, 
the  duchess  had  not  returned  the  said  eighty  thousand  francs 
to  Ludovico,  the  lands  of  the  Ricciarda  were  to  remain  his 
property.  "  There  is  something  fine,"  said  the  duchess  to 
herself,  "  in  giving  a  faithful  servant  very  nearly  a  third  of 
all  that  remains  to  myself." 

"  Hark !  "  said  the  duchess  to  Ludovico.  "  After  you 
have  played  my  joke  with  the  reservoir  I  can  only  give  you 
two  days  in  which  to  enjoy  yourself  at  Casal  Maggiore.  To 
insure  the  validity  of  the  sale,  you  must  say  the  business 
dates  more  than  a  year  back.  You  must  rejoin  me  at  Bel- 
girate,  and  that  without  any  delay.  Fabrizio  may  possibly 
go  to  England,  and  you  must  follow  him  thither." 

416 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Early  the  next  morning  the  duchess  and  Fabrizio  were 
at  Belgirate. 

They  settled  themselves  down  in  that  enchanting  village. 
But  a  mortal  sorrow  awaited  the  duchess  on  the  shores  of 
the  beautiful  Lago  Maggiore.  Fabrizio  was  an  altered  man. 
From  the  very  first  moments  of  his  awakening  out  of  the 
lethargic  slumber  which  had  followed  on  his  flight,  the 
duchess  had  perceived  that  something  extraordinary  was 
passing  within  his  soul.  The  deep  feeling  which  he  hid  with 
so  much  care  was  a  somewhat  strange  one — it  was  nothing 
less  than  his  despair  at  finding  himself  out  of  prison.  He 
carefully  abstained  from  confessing  the  cause  of  his  sadness ; 
that  would  have  elicited  questions  which  he  did  not  choose 
to  answer.  "  But,"  said  the  duchess  in  her  astonishment, 
"  the  hideous  sensation,  when  hunger  forced  you  to  stave 
oflf  inanition  by  eating  some  of  the  horrible  food  sent  from 
the  prison  kitchen,  the  sensation — Is  there  any  odd  taste 
about  this?  Am  I  poisoning  myself  at  this  moment?  Did 
not  that  feeling  fill  you  with  horror  ?  " 

"  I  thought  of  death,"  replied  Fabrizio,  "  just  as  I  sup- 
pose soldiers  think  of  it.  It  was  a  possibility,  which  I  fully 
believed  I  should  escape  by  my  own  skill." 

What  an  anxiety,  what  a  grief  was  this  to  the  duchess ! 
She  watched  this  being  whom  she  adored,  who  had  once 
been  so  unlike  other  men,  so  lively,  so  full  of  originality,  a 
prey  now  to  the  deepest  reverie.  He  preferred  solitude 
even  to  the  pleasure  of  talking  over  everything,  in  utter 
frankness,  with  the  best  friend  he  had  in  the  world.  His  be- 
haviour to  the  duchess  was  still  kindly,  attentive,  full  of  grati- 
tude. As  in  the  old  days,  he  would  have  given  his  life  for 
her  a  hundred  times  over.  But  his  heart  was  elsewhere. 
Often  they  sailed  four  or  five  leagues  over  the  lovely  lake 
without  exchanging  a  word.  Conversation,  the  chilly  ex- 
change of  thought  still  possible  to  them,  might,  perhaps, 
have  seemed  agreeable  to  others.  But  they,  and  more  espe- 
cially the  duchess,  still  recollected  what  their  conversations 
had  been  before  that  fatal  fray  with  Giletti  had  parted  them. 
Fabrizio  owed  the  duchess  the  story  of  the  nine  months  he 
had  spent  in  a  hideous  prison,  and  now  it  appeared  that  all 

417 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

he  had  to  tell  of  that  time  amounted  to  a  few  short  and  un- 
finished phrases. 

"  This  was  sure  to  happen,  sooner  or  later,"  said  the 
duchess  to  herself,  drearily.  "  Sorrow  has  aged  me,  or  else 
real  love  has  come  to  him,  and  I  only  hold  the  second  place 
in  his  heart."  Humbled,  crushed,  by  this  greatest  of  all  pos- 
sible sorrows,  the  duchess  would  sometimes  murmur  to  her- 
self, "  If  it  had  been  Heaven's  will  that  Ferrante  should  have 
gone  quite  mad,  or  that  his  courage  should  have  failed,  it 
seems  to  me  I  should  have  been  less  wretched."  From  that 
moment,  this  partial  regret  poisoned  the  duchess's  esteem 
for  her  own  character.  "  So,"  she  mused  bitterly,  "  I  repent 
me  now  of  a  resolution  I  have  once  taken.  I  am  no  longer 
a  Del  Dongo." 

"  Heaven  willed  it  so,"  she  began  again.  "  Fabrizio  is  in 
love,  and  what  right  have  I  to  desire  he  should  not  be  in 
love?  Has  one  single  word  of  love  ever  been  exchanged 
between  us  ?  " 

This  thought,  sensible  as  it  was,  prevented  her  from 
sleeping,  and  at  last — ^this  proves  that  age  and  a  weakening 
soul  had  overtaken  her,  simultaneously  with  her  hope  of 
a  condign  vengeance — she  was  a  hundred  times  more 
wretched  at  Belgirate  than  she  had  been  at  Parma.  As  to 
the  identity  of  the  person  who  had  cast  Fabrizio  into  so 
strange  a  reverie,  there  was  no  possibility  of  any  reasonable 
doubt.  Clelia  Conti,  that  pious  maiden,  had  deceived  her 
father,  since  she  had  consented  to  make  the  garrison  drunk, 
and  Fabrizio  never  mentioned  Clelia's  name.  "  But,"  the 
duchess  added,  beating  her  breast  in  her  despair,  "  if  the  gar- 
rison had  not  been  intoxicated,  all  my  inventiveness  and  all 
my  care  would  have  come  to  naught.  Therefore  it  is  she  who 
has  saved  him." 

It  was  only  with  the  most  extreme  difficulty  that  the 
duchess  could  induce  Fabrizio  to  give  her  any  details  of 
the  events  of  that  night,  which,  so  the  duchess  said  to  her- 
self, "  would  otherwise  have  been  the  subject  of  never-end- 
ing conversation  between  us.  In  those  happy  days  he  would 
have  talked  all  day  long,  and  with  incessant  spirit  and  gaiety, 
about  the  veriest  trifle  it  came  into  my  head  to  suggest." 

418 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

As  it  was  necessary  to  provide  for  every  contingency, 
the  duchess  had  established  Fabrizio  at  the  port  of  Locarno, 
a  Swiss  town  at  the  end  of  the  Lago  Maggiore.  Every  day 
she  fetched  him,  in  a  boat,  for  long  expeditions  on  the  lake. 
One  day  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  go  up  to  his  room, 
and  found  the  walls  covered  with  a  quantity  of  views  of  the 
city  of  Parma,  for  which  he  had  sent  to  Milan,  or  even  to 
Parma  itself — that  country  which  he  should  have  held  in 
detestation.  His  little  sitting-room  had  been  transformed 
into  a  studio,  fitted  with  all  the  impedimenta  of  a  water-colour 
artist,  and  she  found  him  just  finishing  a  third  sketch  of  the 
Farnese  Tower  and  the  governor's  palace. 

"  All  you  need  do  now,"  said  she,  with  a  look  of  vexation, 
"  is  to  draw  the  portrait  of  that  delightful  governor  who 
wanted  to  poison  you,  from  memory.  But  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it,"  continued  the  duchess,  "  you  really  should  write 
him  a  letter  of  apology  for  having  taken  the  liberty  of  escap- 
ing and  bringing  ridicule  upon  his  citadel." 

The  poor  lady  little  thought  how  truly  she  was  speaking. 

Fabrizio's  first  care,  the  moment  he  had  reached  a  place 
of  safety,  had  been  to  indite  General  Fabio  Conti  a  per- 
fectly polite  and,  in  a  sense,  a  very  ridiculous  letter,  in 
which  he  begged  him  to  forgive  him  for  having  escaped, 
alleging,  as  his  excuse,  that  he  had  been  given  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  a  person  occupying  a  subaltern  position  in  the 
prison  had  been  ordered  to  poison  him.  Fabrizio  cared  little 
what  he  wrote.  His  one  hope  was  that  the  letter  might  fall 
under  Clelia's  eyes,  and  his  own  face  was  wet  with  tears  as 
he  traced  the  words.  He  closed  his  epistle  with  a  very 
whimsical  phrase:  he  ventured  to  say  that  now  he  was  at 
liberty,  he  very  often  regretted  his  little  chamber  in  the 
Farnese  Tower.  This  was  the  ruling  thought  of  his  letter, 
and  he  hoped  Clelia  would  understand  it.  Still  in  a  writing 
humour,  and  still  hoping  that  a  certain  person  might  read 
what  he  wrote,  Fabrizio  penned  his  thanks  to  Don  Cesare, 
the  good-natured  chaplain  who  had  lent  him  theological 
books.  A  few  days  later  Fabrizio  persuaded  the  small  book- 
seller at  Locarno  to  travel  to  Milan,  where  this  worthy,  who 
was  a  friend  of  the  celebrated  book-fancier,  Reina,  bought 

419 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

him  the  most  splendid  editions  to  be  discovered  of  the 
works  lent  him  by  Don  Cesare.  The  kind  chaplain  received 
these  books,  with  a  fine  letter  telling  him  that  the  poor  pris- 
oner, in  moments  of  impatience  which  might  perhaps  be 
forgiven  him,  had  covered  the  margins  of  his  books  with 
absurd  notes.  He  therefore  besought  him  to  replace  those 
volumes  in  his  library  by  these  now  despatched  to  him,  with 
a  most  lively  sense  of  gratitude. 

Fabrizio  was  not  exactly  correct  when  he  described  his 
endless  scribblings  on  the  margins  of  a  folio  copy  of  the 
works  of  St.  Jerome  as  "  notes."  Hoping  he  might  be  able 
to  send  the  book  back  to  the  good  chaplain  and  exchange 
it  for  another,  he  had  written  on  its  margins,  from  day  to  day, 
a  most  careful  journal  of  everything  that  happened  to  him 
in  prison.  These  great  events  amounted  to  nothing  but  the 
expression  of  his  ecstasies  of  divine  love  (the  word  divine  was 
used  instead  61  another,  which  he  dared  not  write).  Some- 
times this  "  divine  love  "  cast  the  prisoner  into  the  deepest 
despair ;  then,  again,  a  voice  heard  in  the  air  would  give  him 
some  hope,  and  lift  him  into  transports  of  happiness.  All 
this  was  written,  fortunately,  in  prison  ink,  composed  of 
wine,  chocolate,  and  soot,  and  Don  Cesare,  when  he  put  the 
volume  of  St.  Jerome  back  on  his  library  shelves,  had 
scarcely  glanced  at  it.  If  he  had  looked  closely  over  the 
margins  he  would  have  become  aware  that  one  day  the  pris- 
oner, believing  himself  to  have  been  poisoned,  was  rejoicing 
in  the  thought  that  he  was  to  die  within  forty  paces  of  that 
which  he  had  loved  best  in  this  world.  But  other  eyes  be- 
sides those  of  the  kind-hearted  chaplain  had  perused  the 
page  since  Fabrizio's  escape.  The  beautiful  idea  of  dying 
near  the  object  of  one's  love,  expressed  in  a  hundred  different 
forms,  was  followed  by  a  sonnet,  which  set  forth  that  the 
soul,  parted  after  hideous  torments  from  the  weak  body 
which  it  had  inhabited  for  the  past  three-and-twenty  years, 
and  impelled  by  that  instinctive  desire  for  happiness  natu- 
ral to  everything  which  has  had  life,  would  not,  even  if  the 
great  Judge  granted  pardon  for  all  its  sins,  betake  itself  to 
heaven,  to  join  the  angelic  choir,  the  moment  it  obtained  its 
freedom ;  but  that,  more  happy  after  death  than  it  had  been 

420 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

in  life,  it  would  join  itself  to  its  earthly  love,  within  a  few 
paces  of  the  prison  in  which  it  groaned  so  long.  "  Thus," 
ran  the  last  line  of  the  sonnet,  "  I  shall  have  found  my  para- 
dise on  earth." 

Although  within  the  citadel  of  Parma  Fabrizio  was  never 
mentioned,  except  as  a  vile  traitor  who  had  violated  the 
most  sacred  laws,  the  worthy  priest  was  delighted  at  the 
sight  of  these  beautiful  books,  sent  him  by  an  unknown 
hand — for  Fabrizio  had  been  careful  not  to  write  for  a  few 
days  after  their  arrival,  lest  the  sight  of  his  name  should  in- 
duce the  indignant  return  of  the  whole  consignment.  Don 
Cesare  did  not  mention  this  attention  to  his  brother,  who 
flew  into  a  fury  whenever  Fabrizio's  name  was  spoken.  But 
since  the  prisoner's  escape  he  had  fallen  back  into  all  his 
former  intimacy  with  his  charming  niece,  and  as  he  had  at 
one  time  taught  her  a  little  Latin,  he  showed  her  the  beau- 
tiful books  he  had  received.  This  had  been  the  traveller's 
hope.  Clelia  suddenly  reddened  deeply ;  she  had  recognised 
Fabrizio's  handwriting.  Long  narrow  pieces  of  yellow 
paper  had  been  placed,  like  markers,  in  different  parts  of  the 
volume,  and  how  true  is  it  that  amidst  the  sordid  money  in- 
terests, and  the  cold  and  colourless  vulgarity  of  the  consid- 
erations which  fill  our  lives,  the  acts  inspired  by  a  genuine 
passion  seldom  fail  to  produce  their  due  eflfect!  On  this 
occasion,  as  though  some  favouring  goddess  led  her  by  the 
hand,  Clelia,  guided  by  instinct,  and  by  one  overmastering 
thought,  begged  her  uncle  to  allow  her  to  compare  his  old 
copy  of  St.  Jerome  with  that  he  had  just  received.  How 
shall  I  describe  the  joy  that  brightened  the  gloomy  sadness 
into  which  Fabrizio's  absence  had  plunged  her,  when  she 
found,  on  the  margins  of  the  old  St.  Jerome,  the  sonnet  of 
which  we  have  spoken,  and  the  recital,  day  by  day,  of  the 
love  she  had  inspired ! 

That  very  first  day  she  knew  the  lines  by  heart,  and  sang 
them  to  herself,  leaning  on  her  own  window,  opposite  that 
lonely  one  at  which  she  had  so  often  seen  the  tiny  opening 
appear  in  the  wooden  screen.  The  screen  in  question  had 
been  taken  down,  to  be  produced  in  court,  and  used  as  a 
proof  in  an  absurd  trial  which  Rassi  was  now  instituting 

421 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

against  Fabrizio,  who  was  accused  of  having  escaped,  or,  as 
the  Chief  Justice  put  it,  laughing  himself,  of  having  snatched 
himself  from  the  clemency  of  a  magnanimous  prince. 

Every  step  Clelia  had  taken  caused  her  bitter  remorse, 
and  now  that  she  was  so  unhappy,  her  self-reproach  was  all 
the  deeper.  She  struggled  to  soften  the  blame  she  cast  upon 
herself  by  recalling  the  vow  she  had  made  to  the  Madonna, 
when  the  general  had  been  half  poisoned,  and  renewed  every 
day  since — that  she  would  never  see  Fahrisio  again. 

Fabrizio's  escape  had  made  the  general  very  ill,  and  be- 
sides, he  had  very  nearly  lost  his  post,  when  the  prince,  in  his 
rage,  discharged  all  the  jailers  in  the  Far'nese  Tower,  and 
sent  them  as  prisoners  to  the  city  jail.  The  general  had  been 
partly  saved  by  the  intercession  of  Count  Mosca,  who  pre- 
ferred having  him  shut  up  in  the  top  of  his  citadel  to  having 
to  deal  with  him  as  an  active  and  intriguing  rival  in  court 
circles. 

It  was  during  this  fortnight  of  uncertainty  as  to  the  dis- 
grace of  the  general,  who  was  really  ill,  that  Clelia  found 
courage  to  perform  the  sacrifice  of  which  she  had  spoken 
to  Fabrizio.  She  had  been  clever  enough  to  fall  ill  on  that 
day  of  general  rejoicing,  which  had  also,  as  my  readers  recol- 
lect, been  that  of  Fabrizio's  flight.  The  next  day,  again,  she 
was  ill,  and,  in  a  word,  she  managed  so  cleverly  that,  except 
for  the  jailer  Grillo,  whose  special  charge  Fabrizio  had  been, 
not  a  soul  suspected  her  complicity,  and  Grillo  held  his 
peace.  But  as  soon  as  Clelia's  fears  from  this  quarter  were 
quieted,  her  legitimate  remorse  tortured  her  yet  more  cru- 
elly. "  What  earthly  reason,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  can  possi- 
bly lessen  the  crime  of  a  daughter  who  betrays  her  father  ?  " 

One  evening,  after  having  spent  almost  the  whole  day  in 
the  chapel,  and  in  tears,  she  begged  her  uncle,  Don  Cesare, 
to  come  with  her  to  the  general,  whose  fits  of  rage  now  ter- 
rified her  all  the  more  because  they  were  constantly  mingled 
with  curses  of  that  abominable  traitor  Fabrizio, 

When  she  reached  her  father's  presence  she  found  cour- 
age to  tell  him  that  if  she  had  always  refused  to  give  her 
hand  to  the  Marchese  Crescenzi  it  was  because  she  felt  no 
inclination  toward  him,  and  that  she  was  convinced  the 

422 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

union  would  not  bring  her  happiness.  At  these  words  the 
general  flew  into  a  fury,  and  Clelia  had  considerable  diffi- 
culty in  speaking  again.  She  added  that  if  her  father, 
tempted  by  the  marchese's  fortune,  thought  himself  obliged 
to  give  her  a  formal  order  to  marry  him,  she  was  ready  to 
obey.  The  general  was  quite  taken  aback  by  this  conclu- 
sion, which  he  did  not  in  the  least  expect.  He  ended,  how- 
ever, by  being  very  much  delighted.  "  So,"  said  he  to  his 
brother,  "  I  shall  not  have  to  live  in  rooms  on  the  second 
floor,  after  all,  even  if  this  scamp  Fabrizio's  vile  behaviour 
does  cost  me  my  place." 

Count  Mosca  took  care  to  be  very  much  shocked  by 
the  escape  of  "  that  good-for-nothing  fellow  Fabrizio,"  and 
seized  every  opportunity  of  repeating  Rassi's  vulgar  phrase 
as  to  the  dull  behaviour  of  the  young  man  who  had  turned 
his  back  on  the  sovereign's  clemency. 

This  witty  remark,  beloved  by  the  smart  set,  did  not  take 
at  all  among  the  populace.  The  people,  left  to  their  own 
good  sense,  and  though  they  held  Fabrizio  a  very  guilty 
man,  admired  the  courage  he  had  shown  in  climbing  down 
from  so  great  a  height.  There  was  not  a  soul  about  court 
who  felt  any  admiration  for  his  courage.  As  for  the  police, 
which  was  sorely  humiliated  by  its  mishap,  it  had  officially 
discovered  that  twenty  soldiers,  bought  over  with  money 
distributed  by  the  duchess — that  vilely  ungrateful  woman 
whose  name  could  not  be  pronounced  without  a  sigh — had 
brought  Fabrizio  four  ladders,  each  forty-live  feet  long,  and 
all  bound  together,  Fabrizio  had  thrown  down  a  rope, 
which  had  been  fastened  to  these  ladders,  and  his  only  ex- 
ploit had  been  the  very  ordinary  one  of  hauling  them  up. 
Certain  notoriously  imprudent  Liberals,  and  among  them  a 

Doctor  C ,  an  agent  in  the  prince's  direct  pay,  added,  and 

compromised  themselves  by  saying  so,  that  this  merciless 
police  had  been  so  cruel  as  to  cause  eight  of  the  soldiers  who 
had  abetted  the  ungrateful  Fabrizio's  flight  to  be  barbar- 
ously shot.  Hence  Fabrizio  was  blamed,  even  by  genuine 
Liberals,  because  his  foolhardiness  had  brought  about  the 
death  of  eight  poor  soldiers.  Thus  do  small  despots  whittle 
down  the  value  of  public  opinion. 

423 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Amidst  the  general  storm  of  invective,  Archbishop  Lan- 
driani  alone  stood  faithful  to  his  young  friend's  cause,  and 
ventured,  even  at  the  princess's  court,  to  quote  that  maxim 
of  jurisprudence,  according  to  which  the  justification  of  an 
absent  person  must  always  be  received  with  unprejudiced 
ears. 

On  the  very  morning  after  Fabrizio's  escape,  several  per- 
sons received  a  tolerable  sonnet,  which  acclaimed  his  flight 
as  one  of  the  finest  actions  of  the  century,  and  likened  Fa- 
brizio  to  an  angel  descending  upon  earth  on  outspread 
wings.  On  the  evening  of  the  third  day,  every  tongue  in 
Parma  was  repeating  a  really  magnificent  piece  of  verse. 
This  purported  to  be  Fabrizio's  soliloquy  as  he  swung  him- 
self down  the  rope,  and  reviewed  the  various  incidents  of 
his  life.  Two  magnificent  lines  insured  this  second  sonnet 
its  proper  place  in  public  estimation.  Every  connoisseur  rec- 
ognised the  hand  of  Ferrante  Palla. 

But  at  this  point,  I  myself  ought  to  fall  into  the  epic 
style.  What  colours  are  bright  enough  to  paint  the  tor- 
rents of  indignation  that  submerged  the  hearts  of  all  well- 
conditioned  folk  at  the  incredible  news  of  the  insolent  illu- 
mination at  Sacca!  One  shriek  of  horror  went  up  against 
the  duchess ;  even  genuine  Liberals  thought  she  had  risked 
the  safety  of  the  poor  suspects  in  the  various  prisons  in  a 
most  barbarous  fashion,  and  unnecessarily  exasperated  the 
sovereign's  feelings.  Count  Mosca  declared  that  only  one 
course  was  left  to  the  duchess's  old  friends — they  must  for- 
get her.  The  concert  of  execration  was  quite  unanimous. 
Any  stranger  passing  through  the  town  must  have  been 
struck  by  the  strength  of  public  opinion.    Still,  in  this  coun- 

424 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

try,  where  the  delights  of  vengeance  are  thoroughly  appre- 
ciated, the  illuminations  and  the  splendid  fete  given  to  over 
six  thousand  peasants  in  the  park  at  Sacca  had  a  huge  suc- 
cess. Everybody  in  Parma  was  saying  that  the  duchess  had 
given  a  thousand  sequins  to  her  peasants,  and  this,  it  was 
added,  explained  the  somewhat  rough  reception  given  the 
thirty  gendarmes  the  police  had  been  foolish  enough  to  send 
into  the  village,  thirty-six  hours  after  the  splendid  festivities, 
and  the  general  drunkenness  which  had  followed  on  them, 
had  come  to  an  end.  The  gendarmes  had  been  received  with 
volleys  of  stones,  had  taken  to  flight,  and  two  of  them  had 
been  thrown  into  the  river. 

As  to  the  bursting  of  the  great  reservoir  at  the  Palazzo 
Sanseverina,  that  had  hardly  been  noticed.  A  few  streets 
had  been  flooded  during  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  peo- 
ple might  have  thought  it  had  been  raining.  Ludovico  had 
carefully  broken  the  glass  in  one  of  the  palace  windows, 
which  accounted  for  the  entrance  of  the  thieves,  and  a  short 
ladder  had  actually  been  found  hard  by.  Count  Mosca  was 
the  only  person  who  recognised  the  finger  of  his  friend. 

Fabrizio  was  quite  resolved  to  get  back  to  Parma  as  soon 
as  he  could.  He  sent  Ludovico  with  a  long  letter  to  the  arch- 
bishop, and  that  faithful  servant  came  back  to  the  first  village 
in  Piedmont — Sannazaro,  to  the  west  of  Pavia — and  there 
posted  the  Latin  epistle  addressed  by  the  worthy  prelate  to 
his  young  friend.  We  must  here  add  a  detail,  which,  like 
many  others,  doubtless,  may  strike  people  as  wearisome,  in 
a  country  where  caution  is  no  longer  necessary.  The  name 
"  Fabrizio  del  Dongo  "  was  never  written ;  all  letters  in- 
tended for  him  were  addressed  to  Ludovico  San-Michele, 
either  at  Locarno  in  Switzerland,  or  at  Belgirate  in  Pied- 
mont. The  envelope  was  made  of  coarse  paper,  it  was  clum- 
sily sealed,  the  address  was  hardly  legible,  and  occasionally 
adorned  with  additions  worthy  of  a  cook,  and  all  these  let- 
ters were  antedated,  by  six  days,  from  Naples. 

From  the  Piedmontese  village  of  Sannazaro,  near  Pavia, 
Ludovico  hurried  back  to  Parma.  He  was  charged  with 
a  mission  which  Fabrizio  regarded  as  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance.   He  was  ordered  to  do  no  less  a  thing  than  to  send 

425 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Qelia  Conti  a  silken  handkerchief,  on  which  one  of  Pe- 
trarch's sonnets  had  been  printed.  One  word  in  the  sonnet 
had,  indeed,  been  altered.  Clelia  found  it  on  her  table,  two 
days  after  she  had  received  the  thanks  of  the  Marchese  Cres- 
cenzi,  who  declared  himself  the  happiest  of  men ;  and  I  need 
not  describe  the  impression  this  mark  of  unfailing  recollec- 
tion produced  upon  her  feelings. 

Ludovico  had  received  orders  to  collect  every  possible 
detail  as  to  what  was  happening  in  the  citadel.  He  it  was 
who  brought  Fabrizio  the  sad  news  that  the  marriage  with 
the  Marchese  Crescenzi  appeared  to  be  a  settled  thing. 
Hardly  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not  oflfer  Clelia  some  form 
of  festivity  within  the  citadel  walls.  One  decisive  proof  that 
the  marriage  was  settled  was  that  the  marchese,  who  was 
excessively  rich,  and  consequently,  like  most  wealthy  people 
in  northern  Italy,  exceedingly  stingy,  was  making  huge 
preparations — and  that,  although  he  was  marrying  a  dower- 
less  girl.  It  is  true  that  General  Fabio  Conti,  whose  vanity 
had  been  sorely  stung  by  this  remark — the  first  which  oc- 
curred to  all  his  fellow-countrymen — had  just  bought  a 
landed  property  costing  over  three  hundred  thousand  francs, 
and  that,  though  he  had  nothing  of  his  own,  he  had  paid  for 
it  with  ready  money,  presumably  money  belonging  to  the 
marquis.  He  had  also  given  out  that  he  bestowed  the  prop- 
erty on  his  daughter  as  a  wedding  gift.  But  the  expenses  of 
drawing  up  the  deeds,  and  others,  which  came  to  more  than 
twelve  thousand  francs,  struck  the  Marchese  Crescenzi,  a 
man  of  very  logical  mind,  as  a  very  ridiculous  outlay.  He, 
on  his  part,  was  having  magnificent  hangings — admirably 
devised  for  delighting  the  eyes,  by  the  famous  Pallazzi,  a 
Bolognese  painter — woven  at  Lyons.  These  hangings,  each 
of  which  bore  some  part  of  the  Crescenzi  family  arms  (the 
family,  as  all  the  world  knows,  is  descended  from  the  famous 
Roman  Consul  Crescentius,  who  lived  in  985),  were  to  fur- 
nish the  seventeen  saloons  composing  the  ground  floor  of 
the  marchese's  palace.  The  hangings,  clocks,  and  chande- 
liers, delivered  in  Parma,  cost  over  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs.  The  value  of  the  new  mirrors,  added  to 
those  the  house  already  contained,  reached  two  hundred 

426 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

thousand  francs.  With  the  exception  of  two  rooms,  famous 
as  the  work  of  Parmegiano,  the  greatest  painter  of  that  coun- 
try next  to  the  divine  Correggio,  all  the  apartments  on  the 
first  and  second  floor  were  now  occupied  by  the  most  famous 
Florentine  and  Milanese  painters,  who  were  adorning  them 
with  frescoes.  Fokelberg,  the  great  Swedish  sculptor,  Te- 
nerani,  from  Rome,  and  Marchesi,  from  Milan,  had  been 
working  for  a  year  on  ten  bas-reliefs  representing  as  many 
noble  acts  in  the  life  of  that  truly  great  man  Crescentius. 
Most  of  the  ceilings,  which  were  also  painted  in  fresco,  con- 
tained some  allusion  to  his  career.  One  particular  ceiling — 
on  which  Hayez,  of  Milan,  had  depicted  Crescentius  received 
in  the  Elysian  Fields  by  Francesco  Sforza,  Lorenzo  the  Mag- 
nificent, King  Robert,  the  Tribune  Cola  di  Rienzi,  Macchia- 
velli,  Dante,  and  the  other  great  figures  of  the  Middle  Ages 
— was  most  generally  admired.  Expressed  admiration  for 
these  elect  beings  was  considered  to  hint  scorn  of  the  people 
in  power  at  the  moment. 

All  these  splendid  details  absorbed  the  attention  of  the 
nobles  and  burghers  of  Parma,  and  wrung  our  hero's  heart, 
when  he  read  them,  related  with  artless  admiration,  in  a  long 
letter  of  over  twenty  pages  which  Ludovico  had  dictated  to 
a  customs-officer  at  Casal  Maggiore. 

"  And  I  am  so  poor !  "  said  Fabrizio  to  himself.  "  I  have 
four  thousand  francs  a  year  in  all,  and  for  everything.  It  is 
downright  insolence  for  me  to  dare  to  be  in  love  with  Clelia 
Conti,  for  whom  all  these  marvels  are  being  prepared." 

One  item  in  Ludovico's  letter,  written  in  his  own  clumsy 
hand,  informed  his  master  that  he  had  happened,  one  night, 
on  poor  Grillo,  his  former  jailer,  who  had  been  thrown  into 
prison  and  subsequently  released,  and  who  now  bore  all  the 
appearance  of  a  man  who  was  hiding.  Grillo  had  begged 
him,  of  his  charity,  to  give  him  a  sequin,  and  Ludovico  had 
given  him  four  in  the  duchess's  name.  The  former  jailers, 
twelve  of  them,  who  had  just  been  set  at  liberty,  were  mak- 
ing themselves  ready  to  give  the  new  men  who  had  suc- 
ceeded them  a  "  knifing  entertainment "  (trattamento  di  col- 
tellate)  if  they  could  contrive  to  come  upon  them  outside 
the  citadel.    Grillo  had  reported  that  there  was  a  serenade 

427 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

at  the  fortress  every  night,  that  the  Signorina  Clelia  Conti 
looked  very  pale,  was  often  ill,  and  other  things  of  that  sort. 
As  a  consequence  of  this  absurd  expression,  Ludovico  re- 
ceived orders,  by  return  of  post,  to  come  back  to  Locarno. 
He  came,  and  the  details  he  supplied  by  word  of  mouth  were 
still  more  distressing  to  Fabrizio's  feelings. 

My  readers  may  imagine  how  pleasant  he  made  himself 
to  the  poor  duchess ;  he  would  have  died  a  thousand  deaths 
rather  than  have  pronounced  the  name  of  Clelia  Conti  in 
her  presence. 

The  duchess  loathed  Parma,  and  to  Fabrizio  everything 
that  reminded  him  of  that  city  was  at  once  sublime  and 
tender. 

Less  than  ever  had  the  duchess  forgotten  her  vengeance. 
She  had  been  so  happy  before  Giletti's  death,  and  now,  what 
a  fate  was  hers !  She  was  living  in  constant  expectation  of  a 
frightful  event,  not  a  word  of  which  she  dared  mention  to 
Fabrizio — she  who,  when  she  had  made  her  arrangement 
with  Ferrante,  had  dreamed  that  one  day  she  would  rejoice 
Fabrizio's  heart  by  assuring  him  that  his  day  of  vengeance 
would  surely  come. 

My  readers  may  conceive  some  idea  of  the  agreeability  of 
the  conversations  between  Fabrizio  and  the  duchess.  The 
dreariest  silence  generally  reigned  between  the  two.  To  in- 
crease the  enjoyment  of  their  intercourse  the  duchess  had 
allowed  herself  to  be  tempted  into  playing  a  trick  upon  her 
too  beloved  nephew.  The  count  wrote  to  her  almost  every 
day.  Apparently  he  still  sent  couriers,  as  in  the  first  days  of 
their  love,  for  his  letters  always  bore  the  postmark  of  some 
small  Swiss  town.  The  poor  man  taxed  his  wits  so  as  not  to 
speak  too  openly  of  his  affection,  and  to  devise  amusing  let- 
ters. All  she  did  was  to  glance  over  them  carelessly.  What, 
alas,  is  the  fidelity  of  a  lover  she  esteems,  to  a  woman  whose 
heart  is  wrung  by  the  coldness  of  the  man  she  prefers ! 

In  two  months  the  duchess  only  sent  him  back  one  an- 
swer, and  that  was  to  request  him  to  sound  the  princess,  and 
find  out  whether,  in  spite  of  the  insolent  display  of  fireworks, 
a  letter  from  the  duchess  would  be  well  received.  The  letter 
he  was  to  present,  if  he  thought  it  wise,  prayed  the  princess 

428 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  appoint  the  Marchese  Crescenzi  to  the  post  of  lord  in 
waiting  to  her  Serene  Highness,  which  had  lately  fallen 
vacant,  and  begged  the  position  might  be  given  him  in  con- 
sideration of  his  marriage.  The  duchess's  letter  was  a  master- 
piece, full  of  the  tenderest  respect,  most  perfectly  expressed. 
Its  courtier-like  language  did  not  contain  a  single  word  of 
which  the  consequences,  even  the  most  distant,  could  have 
been  otherwise  than  agreeable  to  the  princess,  and  the  an- 
swer it  elicited  breathed  a  tender  friendship,  which  separa- 
tion was  putting  to  the  torture. 

"  My  son  and  I,"  wrote  the  princess,  "  have  not  had  one 
fairly  pleasant  evening  since  your  sudden  departure.  Has 
my  dear  duchess  forgotten  that  it  is  to  her  I  owe  the  fact 
that  I  have  regained  a  consulting  voice  in  the  nomination  of 
the  officers  of  my  household  ?  Does  she  feel  herself  obliged 
to  give  reasons  for  appointing  the  marchese,  as  though  her 
expressed  desire  were  not  the  best  of  reasons  to  me?  The 
marchese  will  have  the  post  if  I  can  do  anything  toward  it, 
and  in  my  heart  there  will  always  be  a  place — and  the  very 
first — for  my  delightful  duchess.  My  son  uses  absolutely 
the  same  expressions — though  indeed  they  are  rather  strong 
in  the  mouth  of  a  great  fellow  of  one-and-twenty — and  begs 
you  will  send  him  specimens  of  the  minerals  of  the  valley  of 
Orta,  near  Belgirate.  You  can  address  your  letters  to  the 
count,  who  still  detests  you,  and  whom  I  love  all  the  better 
on  account  of  this  sentiment.  The  archbishop,  too,  has  re- 
mained faithful  to  you.  We  all  hope  to  see  you  back  some 
day ;  remember,  that  must  be !  The  Marchesa  Ghisleri,  my 
mistress  of  the  robes,  is  about  to  leave  this  world  for  a 
better  one.  The  poor  woman  has  given  me  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  and  she  displeases  me  now  by  departing  at  such 
an  unseasonable  moment.  Her  illness  makes  me  think  of 
the  name  which  I  should  once  have  found  such  pleasure  in 
substituting  for  hers — if,  indeed,  I  could  have  succeeded  in 
obtaining  this  sacrifice  of  her  independence  from  the  unique 
being  who,  when  she  left  us,  carried  away  with  her  all  the 
delights  of  my  little  court,"  and  so  forth. 

Thus,  day  after  day,  when  the  duchess  met  Fabrizio, 
she   felt   conscious   of  having   done   all   that   in   her   lay 

429 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  hurry  on  the  marriage  which  was  driving  him  to  despair, 
and  they  often  spent  four  or  five  hours  saihng  together  upon 
the  lake,  without  uttering  a  single  word  to  each  other.  Fa- 
brizio's  kind-heartedness  was  complete  and  perfect,  but  he 
was  thinking  of  other  things,  and  his  simple  and  artless  mind 
supplied  him  with  no  subjects  of  conversation.  The  duchess 
saw  this,  and  therein  was  her  torture. 

I  have  forgotten  to  relate,  in  its  proper  place,  that  the 
duchess  had  taken  a  house  at  Belgirate,  a  lovely  village 
which  fulfils  all  the  promise  of  its  name  (the  view  of  a  beau- 
tiful curve  of  the  lake).  Out  of  the  French  window  of  the 
drawing-room,  the  duchess  could  step  into  her  boat.  She 
had  chosen  a  very  ordinary  one,  for  which  four  rowers 
would  have  sufficed,  but  she  hired  twelve,  and  was  careful  to 
have  one  man  from  each  of  the  villages  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Belgirate.  The  third  or  fourth  time  she  found  her- 
self in  the  middle  of  the  lake,  with  all  these  well-chosen  men 
about  her,  she  signed  to  them  to  cease  rowing. 

"  I  look  upon  you  all  as  my  friends,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
am  going  to  trust  you  with  a  secret.  My  nephew  Fabrizio 
has  escaped  from  prison,  and  perhaps  some  treacherous  at- 
tempt may  be  made  to  lay  hands  upon  him,  although  he  is 
on  your  lake,  and  in  a  free  country.  Keep  your  ears  open, 
and  warn  me  of  everything  you  may  hear.  I  give  you  leave 
to  come  into  my  room  either  by  day  or  night." 

The  men  responded  in  the  most  enthusiastic  manner ;  she 
had  the  talent  of  making  herself  loved.  But  she  did  not 
think  there  would  be  any  question  of  trying  to  seize  Fa- 
brizio ;  it  was  for  herself  she  was  taking  these  precautions, 
and  before  she  had  given  the  fatal  order  to  open  the  reser- 
voir at  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina,  she  would  never  have 
dreamed  of  them. 

Prudence  had  also  led  her  to  hire  Fabrizio's  lodging  in 
the  Port  of  Locarno.  Every  day  he  either  came  to  see  her, 
or  she  herself  went  to  see  him  in  Switzerland.  The  delights 
of  their  perpetual  tete-d-tete  may  be  gauged  by  the  following 
detail.  The  marchesa  and  her  daughters  came  to  see  them 
twice,  and  they  were  glad  of  the  presence  of  these  strangers 
— for  ties  of  blood  notwithstanding,  a  person  who  knows 

430 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

nothing  of  one's  dearest  interests,  and  whom  one  does  not 
see  more  than  once  a  year,  may  fairly  be  called  a  stranger. 

One  night,  the  duchess,  with  the  marchesa  and  her  two 
daughters,  was  at  Fabrizio's  rooms  in  Locarno.  The  arch- 
priest  of  the  neighbourhood  and  the  village  priest  had  both 
come  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  ladies.  The  archpriest, 
who  was  interested  in  some  commercial  house,  and  kept 
himself  informed  of  the  current  news,  happened  to  say : 

"  The  Prince  of  Parma  is  dead." 

The  duchess  turned  very  pale.  She  could  hardly  find 
courage  to  inquire,  "  Have  you  heard  any  details  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  archpriest,  "  the  report  only  mentions 
his  death ;  but  that  is  quite  certain." 

The  duchess  looked  at  Fabrizio.  "  It  was  for  him  I  did 
it,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  and  I  would  have  done  a  thousand 
times  worse.  And  there  he  sits  in  front  of  me,  utterly  indif- 
ferent, and  thinking  of  another  woman !  "  It  was  beyond 
the  duchess's  power  to  endure  the  dreadful  thought;  she 
swooned  away.  Every  one  hastened  to  her  assistance,  but 
when  she  came  back  to  her  senses  she  noticed  that  Fabrizio 
was  far  less  perturbed  than  the  two  priests ;  he  was  dream- 
ing, as  usual.  "  He  is  thinking  he  will  go  back  to  Parma," 
said  the  duchess  to  herself,  "  and  perhaps  that  he  will  break 
off  Clelia's  marriage  with  the  marchese.  But  I  shall  know 
how  to  prevent  that."  Then,  recollecting  the  presence  of 
the  two  ecclesiastics,  she  hastily  added : 

"  He  was  a  great  prince,  and  has  been  sorely  slandered. 
He  is  a  sore  loss  to  us  all." 

The  two  priests  took  their  leave,  and  the  duchess, 
who  longed  to  be  alone,  announced  her  intention  of  going 
to  bed. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  prudence  forbids  my 
returning  to  Parma  for  a  month  or  two.  But  I  feel  I  shall 
never  have  that  patience ;  I  suffer  too  much  here.  Fabrizio's 
perpetual  silence  and  absorption  are  more  than  my  heart 
can  bear.  Who  would  have  told  me  I  ever  could  have  felt 
weary  of  sailing  alone  with  him  over  this  beautiful  lake! 
And  just  at  the  moment  when,  to  avenge  him,  I  have  done 
more  than  I  can  ever  tell  him !     After  such  a  sight  as  that, 

431 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

death  seems  nothing  at  all.  Now,  indeed,  I  am  paying  for 
the  ecstasies  of  happiness  and  childish  delight  I  felt  in  my 
palace  at  Parma,  when  Fabrizio  joined  me  there  on  his  return 
from  Naples.  If  I  had  said  one  word  then,  it  would  all  have 
been  settled ;  and  perhaps,  if  he  had  been  bound  to  me,  he 
never  would  have  thought  of  that  little  Clelia.  But  that 
word  filled  me  with  a  horrible  repugnance.  Now  she  has 
the  better  of  me,  and  what  can  be  more  natural  ?  She  is  only 
twenty,  and  I,  besides  being  altered  by  trouble  and  illness, 
am  twice  her  age.  ...  I  must  die,  I  must  make  an  end  of 
it !  A  woman  of  forty  is  nothing  to  any  man,  except  those 
who  have  loved  her  in  her  youth.  The  only  joys  left  to 
me  now  are  those  of  vanity.  And  do  they  make  life  worth 
living?  That's  another  reason  for  going  to  Parma  and 
amusing  myself.  If  certain  things  happened,  I  should  be  put 
to  death;  well,  what  matter?  I  will  die  nobly,  and  just  be- 
fore the  end,  but  not  till  then,  I  will  tell  Fabrizio,  *  Ungrate- 
ful boy,  it  was  for  you  I  did  it ! '  .  .  .  Yes,  Parma  is  the 
only  place  where  I  can  find  occupation  for  what  little  life 
remains  to  me.  I'll  play  the  great  lady  there.  What  a  bless- 
ing it  would  be  if  I  could  find  enjoyment,  now,  in  the  glories 
which  used  to  make  the  Raversi  sick  with  envy !  In  those 
days  I  only  became  aware  of  my  happiness  by  seeing  it  mir- 
rored in  jealous  eyes.  .  .  .  My  vanity  has  one  piece  of  good 
fortune.  Except  for  the  count,  perhaps,  not  a  soul  can  have 
guessed  at  what  has  cut  my  affections  at  their  root.  ...  I 
will  love  Fabrizio,  I  will  devote  myself  to  his  fortunes,  but 
he  shall  not  break  ofif  Clelia's  marriage  and  marry  her  him- 
self. .  .  .  No,  that  shall  never  be !  " 

So  far  had  the  duchess  proceeded  in  her  melancholy 
soliloquy  when  she  heard  a  great  noise  in  the  house. 

"  Hark !  "  she  cried ;  "  they  are  coming  to  arrest  me ! 
Ferrante  has  been  taken  and  has  confessed.  Well,  all  the 
better.  I  shall  have  something  to  do ;  I  must  fight  for  my 
life.     But  to  begin  with,  I  mustn't  let  them  take  me !  " 

Half  dressed,  the  duchess  fled  to  the  bottom  of  her  gar- 
den. She  was  just  meditating  climbing  over  a  low  wall,  and 
escaping  into  the  open  country,  when  she  caught  sight  of 
some  one  going  into  her  room,  and  recognised  Bruno,  the 

432 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

count's  confidential  man.  He  was  alone  with  her  maid.  She 
approached  the  open  window ;  the  man  was  telling  the  maid 
about  the  wounds  he  had  received.  The  duchess  came 
back  into  her  room,  and  Bruno,  casting  himself  at  her  feet, 
besought  her  not  to  tell  the  count  the  absurd  hour  at  which 
he  had  arrived. 

"  The  moment  the  prince  was  dead,"  he  added,  "  the 
count  sent  orders  to  all  the  posting-houses  that  no  horses 
were  to  be  given  to  any  Parmese  subject;  consequently  I 
travelled  as  far  as  the  Po  with  our  own  horses.  But  when 
we  were  getting  off  the  ferry-boat  my  carriage  was  over- 
turned, smashed  up,  and  destroyed,  and  I  was  so  seriously 
hurt  that  I  could  not  ride,  as  it  was  my  duty  to  have  done." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  duchess,  "  it  is  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  I'll  say  it  is  midday.  But  don't  you  dare  to  con- 
tradict me !  " 

"  That  is  like  the  signora's  usual  kindness." 

In  a  literary  work,  politics  play  the  part  of  a  pistol  shot  in 
the  middle  of  a  concert — something  rough  and  disagreeable, 
to  which,  nevertheless,  we  can  not  refuse  our  attention. 

I  am  now  going  to  speak  of  very  ugly  matters,  concern- 
ing which,  for  more  than  one  reason,  I  would  gladly  be 
silent.  But  I  am  compelled  to  refer  to  certain  events  which 
come  within  our  purview,  seeing  they  are  connected  with  the 
lives  of  the  persons  I  describe. 

"  But  good  God,"  said  the  duchess  to  Bruno,  "  how  did 
that  great  prince  come  by  his  death  ?  " 

"  He  went  out  to  shoot  birds  of  passage  in  the  marshes 
by  the  river,  a  few  leagues  from  Sacca.  He  fell  into  a  hole, 
hidden  by  a  tuft  of  grass ;  he  was  in  a  violent  perspiration, 
and  the  cold  struck  him.  He  was  conveyed  to  a  lonely 
house,  and  there  he  died,  within  a  few  hours.  Some  declare 
that  Signore  Catena  and  Barone  are  dead  too,  and  that  the 
whole  accident  was  caused  by  the  saucepans  in  the  peasant's 
house,  into  which  they  were  taken,  being  full  of  verdigris — 
they  all  breakfasted  in  that  house.  Then  the  hot-headed 
folk,  the  Jacobins,  who  say  whatever  suits  them,  talk  about 
poison.  I  know  that  my  friend  Toto,  one  of  the  court  serv- 
ants, would  have  died  but  for  the  care  lavished  on  him 

433 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

by  a  sort  of  lunatic  who  seemed  to  know  a  great  deal  about 
medicine,  and  made  him  use  very  strange  remedies.  But 
nobody  talks  about  the  prince's  death  any  more,  and,  indeed, 
he  was  a  cruel  man.  When  I  was  starting,  the  populace  was 
collecting  to  murder  Chief-Justice  Rassi,  and  the  people 
wanted  to  set  the  gates  of  the  citadel  on  fire,  so  as  to  try  and 
save  the  prisoners.  But  some  people  declared  Fabio  Conti 
would  fire  his  cannon  on  them,  while  others  vowed  the 
gunners  in  the  fortress  had  poured  water  on  their  gun- 
powder, and  would  not  destroy  their  fellow-citizens.  But 
here  is  something  far  more  interesting :  While  the  surgeon  at 
Sandolaro  was  binding  up  my  poor  arm,  a  man  came  in 
from  Parma,  and  told  us  that  when  the  people  saw  Barbone, 
that  clerk  from  the  citadel,  in  the  streets,  they  first  of  all 
thrashed  him  mercilessly,  and  then  hanged  him  on  the  tree 
in  the  square,  nearest  to  the  citadel.  Then  they  set  out  to 
destroy  that  fine  statue  of  the  prince  that  stands  in  the  royal 
gardens,  but  the  count  sent  for  a  battalion  of  the  guard,  drew 
it  up  in  front  of  the  statue,  and  sent  the  people  word  that 
no  man  who  came  into  the  garden  should  leave  it  alive,  and 
then  every  one  was  frightened. 

"  But  a  very  strange  thing,  which  the  man  from  Parma, 
a  former  gendarme,  told  me,  over  and  over  again,  is  that  the 

count  kicked  General  P ,  the  commandant  of  the  prince's 

guard,  tore  off  his  epaulettes,  and  had  him  marched  out  of 
the  garden  by  two  fusileers." 

"  That's  just  like  the  count !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  in 
a  transport  of  delight,  which  she  would  have  thought  im- 
possible a  moment  previously.     "  He  would  never  allow 

any  one  to  insult  our  princess,  and  as  for  General  P ,  he 

was  so  devoted  to  his  legitimate  masters  that  he  would  never 
serve  the  usurper,  whereas  the  count,  whose  feelings  were 
less  delicate,  fought  through  all  the  Spanish  campaigns,  a 
thing  which  was  often  cast  in  his  teeth  at  court." 

The  duchess  had  opened  the  count's  letter,  but  over  and 
over  again  she  stopped  reading  it  to  question  Bruno. 

It  was  a  very  comical  letter.  The  count  used  the  most 
lugubrious  language,  and  yet  the  most  lively  joy  was  evident 
in  every  word.    He  gave  no  details  as  to  the  manner  of  the 

434 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

prince's  death,  and  ended  his  letter  with  the  following 
words : 

"  You  will  come  back,  of  course,  my  dearest  angel.  But 
I  would  advise  your  waiting  a  day  or  two  for  the  messenger 
whom  the  princess  will  send  you,  as  I  hope,  either  to-day  or 
to-morrow.  Your  return  must  be  as  magnificent  as  your 
departure  was  bold. 

"  As  to  the  great  culprit,  who  is  with  you,  I  fully  expect 
to  have  him  tried  by  twelve  judges,  selected  from  every 
party  in  the  state.  But  to  punish  the  wretch  as  he  deserves, 
I  must  first  of  all  be  in  a  position  to  make  curl-papers  out  of 
the  first  sentence,  if  it  exists." 

The  count  had  reopened  his  letter: 

"  Here's  quite  another  business.  I  have  just  had  car- 
tridges served  out  to  the  two  battalions  of  the  guards.  I 
am  going  to  fight,  and  do  my  best  to  deserve  that  surname 
of  '  Cruel '  with  which  the  Liberals  have  so  long  honoured 

me.    That  old  mummy.  General  P ,  has  dared  to  talk  in 

barracks  of  parleying  with  the  populace,  which  is  in  a  state 
of  semi-revolt.  I  write  this  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  I 
go  hence  to  the  palace,  which  no  one  shall  enter  except 
across  my  dead  body.  Farewell !  If  I  die,  I  die  as  I  have 
lived,  worshipping  you  in  any  case.  Don't  forget  to  send 
for  the  three  hundred  thousand  francs  lodged  in  your  name 
with  D at  Lyons. 

"  Here  comes  that  poor  devil  Rassi,  wigless  and  as  pale 
as  death ;  you've  no  idea  what  a  figure  he  is.  The  populace 
is  bent  on  hanging  him.  That  would  be  too  hard  on  him ; 
he  deserves  to  be  drawn  and  quartered  as  well !  He  would 
have  taken  refuge  in  my  palace,  and  has  run  after  me  into 
the  street.  I  hardly  know  what  to  do  with  him.  ...  I  do 
not  want  to  take  him  to  the  prince's  palace ;  that  would  bring 

about  a  revolt  in  that  quarter.     F will  see  whether  I 

care  for  him.  My  first  words  to  Rassi  were,  '  I  must  have 
the  sentence  on  Monsignore  del  Dongo,  and  all  the  copies 
you  have  of  it,  and  you  will  tell  all  those  shameless  judges, 
who  have  brought  about  this  revolt,  that  I  will  have  them 
all  hanged,  and  you,  my  friend,  into  the  bargain,  if  they 
breathe  a  single  word  of  this  sentence,  which  has  never  ex- 

435 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

isted.'  I  am  sending  a  company  of  grenadiers  to  the  arch- 
bishop, in  Fabrizio's  name.  Farewell,  dear  angel.  My  house 
will  be  burned,  and  I  shall  lose  those  delightful  pictures  I 
have  of  you.    I  am  hurrying  off  to  the  palace  to  get  that  vile 

General  P cashiered.    He  is  working  for  his  own  hand, 

flattering  the  populace  as  basely  as  he  used  to  flatter  the  late 
prince.  All  these  generals  are  frightened  out  of  their  wits ;  I 
think  I'll  have  myself  appointed  commander-in-chief." 

The  duchess  was  spiteful  enough  not  to  send  and  rouse 
Fabrizio.  She  felt  a  glow  of  admiration  for  the  count,  which 
strongly  resembled  love.  "  All  things  considered,"  said  she 
to  herself,  "  I  really  must  marry  him."  She  wrote  him  in- 
stantly to  that  effect,  and  sent  off  one  of  her  servants.  That 
night  the  duchess  had  no  time  to  feel  unhappy. 

The  next  day,  toward  noon,  she  saw  a  boat  with  six 
rowers  swiftly  cleaving  the  waters  of  the  lake.  Fabrizio  and 
she  soon  recognised  a  man  wearing  the  Prince  of  Parma's 
livery.  He  was,  in  fact,  one  of  his  couriers,  who,  before  he 
jumped  on  shore,  called  out  to  the  duchess :  "  The  revolt  is 
put  down."  This  courier  brought  her  several  letters  from 
the  count,  a  charming  missive  from  the  princess,  and  a 
parchment  decree  from  Prince  Ranuzio-Ernest  V  which  cre- 
ated her  Duchess  of  San  Giovanni,  and  appointed  her  Mis- 
tress of  the  Robes  to  the  Princess-Mother.  The  young 
prince,  who  was  learned  in  mineralogy,  and  whom  she  be- 
lieved to  be  a  simpleton,  had  been  clever  enough  to  write 
her  a  little  note,  but  there  was  love  at  the  end  of  it.  The 
note  began  thus : 

"  The  count  says,  my  Lady  Duchess,  that  he  is  pleased 
with  me.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  faced  a  few  musket 
shots  beside  him,  and  my  horse  was  wounded.  The  fuss 
made  over  so  small  a  thing  has  made  me  earnestly  desire  to 
be  present  at  a  real  battle,  so  long  as  it  be  not  against  my 
own  subjects.  I  owe  everything  to  the  count ;  all  my  gen- 
erals, who  know  nothing  of  war,  have  behaved  like  hounds. 
I  believe  two  or  three  of  them  have  run  away  as  far  as 
Bologna.  Since  the  day  when  a  great  and  deplorable  event 
called  me  to  power,  I  have  signed  no  decree  which  gives  me 
so  much  pleasure  as  this,  which  appoints  you  my  mother's 

436 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

mistress  of  the  robes.  My  mother  and  I  have  remembered 
that  one  day  you  admired  the  beautiful  view  from  the  Palaz- 
zetto  San  Giovanni,  which  once  belonged  to  Petrarch — at 
least,  so  we  are  told.  My  mother  desired  to  give  you  this 
little  property,  and  I,  not  knowing  what  to  g^ve  you,  and  not 
daring  to  offer  you  all  that  belongs  to  you  already,  have 
made  you  a  duchess  in  my  own  country.  I  do  not  know 
whether  you  are  so  learned  as  to  be  aware  that  Sanseverina 
is  a  Roman  title.  I  have  just  given  the  ribbon  of  my  Order 
to  our  excellent  archbishop,  who  has  displayed  a  firmness 
very  uncommon  in  a  man  of  sixty-two.  You  will  not  be 
angry  with  me  for  having  recalled  all  the  banished  ladies. 
I  am  told  that  in  future  I  must  never  sign  my  name  without 
having  written  the  words  *  your  affectionate.'  It  vexes  me 
that  I  should  be  thus  made  to  squander  an  assurance  which 
is  not  fully  true,  except  when  I  write  myself  *  your  affection- 
ate, Ranuzio-Ernest.' " 

Who  would  not  have  thought,  judging  from  this  lan- 
guage, that  the  duchess  was  about  to  enjoy  the  highest  fa- 
vour ?  Nevertheless,  she  found  something  very  odd  in  other 
letters  from  the  count,  which  reached  her  two  hours  later. 
These  advised  her,  without  further  explanation,  to  put  off 
her  return  to  Parma  for  a  few  days,  and  to  write  the  princess 
word  that  she  was  exceedingly  unwell.  Notwithstanding, 
the  duchess  and  Fabrizio  started  for  Parma  immediately 
after  dinner ;  the  duchess's  object,  which,  however,  she  did 
not  admit  to  herself,  was  to  hurry  on  the  Marchese  Cres- 
cenzi's  marriage.  Fabrizio,  for  his  part,  performed  the  jour- 
ney in  a  state  of  wild  happiness,  which  seemed  perfectly 
ridiculous  to  his  aunt.  He  had  hopes  of  seeing  Clelia  soon, 
and  fully  reckoned  on  carrying  her  off,  in  spite  of  herself,  if 
that  should  be  the  only  means  of  breaking  off  her  mar- 
riage. 

The  journey  of  the  duchess  and  her  nephew  was  a  very 
cheerful  one.  At  the  last  posting  station  before  Parma,  Fa- 
brizio stopped  a  moment  to  put  on  his  churchman's  garb.  As 
a  rule  he  wore  ordinary  mourning  dress.  When  he  came 
back  to  the  duchess's  room — 

"  There  seems  to  me  something  very  odd  and  inexplica- 

437 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ble,"  she  said,  "  in  the  count's  letters.  If  you  will  be  ruled 
by  me  you  will  stay  here  for  a  few  hours.  I'll  send  you  a 
messenger  as  soon  as  I  have  had  a  talk  with  the  mighty 
minister." 

It  was  only  very  unwillingly  that  Fabrizio  bowed  to  this 
sensible  piece  of  advice.  The  count  received  the  duchess 
with  transports  of  joy  worthy  of  a  boy  of  fifteen,  calling 
her  "  his  wife."  It  was  long  before  he  would  talk  of  poli- 
tics. When  they  came  back,  at  last,  to  the  dull  realms  of 
common  sense — 

"  You  did  very  wisely,"  he  said,  "  to  prevent  Fabrizio 
from  arriving  openly.  There  is  a  great  reaction  going  on 
here.  Just  guess  the  name  of  the  colleague  the  prince  has 
imposed  on  me  as  Minister  of  Justice.  Rassi,  my  dear  soul, 
Rassi,  whom  I  treated  like  the  blackguard  he  is,  on  the  day  of 
our  great  excitements.  By  the  way,  I  must  warn  you  that 
everything  that  happened  here  has  been  suppressed.  If  you 
read  our  Gazette,  you  will  perceive  that  a  clerk  at  the  citadel, 
of  the  name  of  Barbone,  has  been  killed  by  a  fall  from  a 
carriage.  As  for  the  sixty-odd  rogues  I  had  shot  when  they 
tried  to  wreck  the  prince's  statue  in  the  gardens,  they  are 
all  quite  well,  but  they  have  gone  on  long  journeys.  Count 
Zurla,  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  has  personally  visited 
each  of  these  unlucky  heroes'  homes,  and  has  made  over 
fifteen  sequins  to  their  family  or  friends,  with  strict  orders 
to  say  that  the  dead  man  is  travelling,  and  a  very  direct  threat 
that  any  one  who  ventures  to  hint  anybody  has  been  killed 
will  be  forthwith  shut  up  in  prison.  A  man  from  my  own 
office  at  the  Ministry  for  Foreign  Affairs  has  been  sent  to 
the  journalists  of  Milan  and  Turin,  to  prevent  any  mention 
of  the  *  unfortunate  event ' — that's  the  correct  term — and 
this  man  is  to  go  as  far  as  Paris  and  London,  so  as  to  give 
an  almost  official  denial  to  any  newspaper  reference  to  our 
disturbances.  Another  agent  has  gone  toward  Bologna  and 
Florence.     I  shrug  my  shoulders. 

"  But  the  comical  thing,  at  my  age,  is  that  I  felt  a  flash 
of  real  enthusiasm  when  I  was  addressing  the  soldiers  of  the 
guard,  and  when  I  tore  the  epaulettes  oflf  that  contemptible 
fellow,  P .    At  that  moment  I  would  have  given  my  life 

438 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

for  the  prince  without  the  smallest  hesitation.  I  confess, 
now,  it  would  have  been  a  very  silly  way  of  ending  it.  At 
this  moment  the  prince,  kind-hearted  young  fellow  as  he  is, 
would  give  a  thousand  crowns  if  I  would  die  of  some  sick- 
ness. He  dares  not  ask  me  to  resign,  as  yet,  but  we  see 
each  other  as  seldom  as  possible,  and  I  send  him  a  quantity 
of  small  written  reports,  just  as  I  did  with  the  late  prince 
after  Fabrizio  was  imprisoned.  By  the  way,  I  have  not 
turned  his  sentence  into  curl-papers,  for  the  excellent  reason 
that  that  villain  Rassi  never  gave  it  to  me.  That  is  why 
you  have  done  so  wisely  to  prevent  Fabrizio  from  arriving 
publicly.  The  sentence  is  still  valid.  However,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve Rassi  would  dare  to  arrest  our  nephew  to-day.  Still, 
he  may  possibly  dare  to  do  it  within  a  fortnight.  If  Fabrizio 
absolutely  insists  on  coming  into  the  city,  let  him  come  and 
live  in  my  house." 

"  But  what  is  the  reason  of  all  this?  "  exclaimed  the  aston- 
ished duchess. 

"  The  prince  has  been  persuaded  that  I  give  myself  the 
airs  of  a  dictator,  and  of  the  saviour  of  the  country ;  that  I 
want  to  lead  him  like  a  child,  and  even  that,  in  speaking  of 
him,  I  used  those  fatal  words  '  that  child.*  This  may  be  true ; 
I  was  very  much  excited  that  day.  But,  indeed,  I  really 
looked  on  him  as  a  thorough  man,  because  he  was  not 
frightened  in  face  of  the  first  musketry  firing  he  had  ever 
heard  in  his  life.  He  is  by  no  means  a  fool.  His  tone,  in- 
deed, is  much  better  than  his  father's,  and — I  can  not  say  it 
too  often — at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  is  both  good  and 
upright.  But  his  honest  young  soul  is  stung  when  the 
story  of  some  piece  of  rascality  is  told  him,  and  he  thinks 
his  own  nature  must  be  vile  to  perceive  such  things.  Think 
what  his  education  has  been." 

"  Your  Excellency  should  have  remembered  that  he  was 
to  be  our  master  some  day,  and  should  have  placed  a  clever 
man  about  his  person." 

"  In  the  first  place,  we  have  the  instance  of  the  Abbe  de 
Condillac,  who  was  appointed  by  my  predecessor,  the  Mar- 
chese  di  Felino,  and  turned  his  pupil  into  a  very  king  of 
simpletons.    He  walked  in  religious  processions,  and  in  1796 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

he  failed  to  make  terms  with  General  Buonaparte,  who 
would  have  tripled  the  size  of  his  dominions.  And  in  the 
second  place,  I  never  dreamed  I  should  have  been  Prime 
Minister  for  ten  successive  years.  Now  that  my  mind  is  dis- 
abused of  that  idea — that  is  to  say,  for  the  last  month — I  am 
resolved  to  put  together  a  million  of  francs  before  I  leave 
this  Bedlam  I  have  saved,  to  its  fate.  But  for  me,  Parma 
would  have  spent  two  months  as  a  republic,  with  the  poet 
Ferrante  Palla  as  dictator !  " 

The  duchess  reddened  at  the  words.  The  count  knew 
nothing  of  that  story. 

"  We  are  coming  back,  now,  to  the  regular  eighteenth- 
century  monarchy,  ruled  by  the  confessor  and  the  mistress. 
At  heart,  all  the  prince  cares  for  is  mineralogy — and  per- 
haps, madam,  for  you !  Since  he  has  succeeded,  his  body- 
servant,  whose  brother,  a  fellow  with  nine  months'  service,  I 
have  just  made  a  captain — this  body-servant,  I  say,  has  put 
an  idea  into  his  head  that  he  ought  to  be  the  happiest  of 
men,  because  his  profile  will  appear  on  the  coinage.  That 
fine  notion  has  brought  boredom  in  its  train. 

"  Now  he  must  have  an  aide-de-camp  to  help  him  out  of 
his  boredom.  Well,  even  if  he  were  to  oflfer  me  that  pre- 
cious million  of  money,  which  is  so  necessary  to  insure  our 
comfort  at  Naples  or  Paris,  I  would  not  undertake  to  cure 
him  of  his  boredom,  and  spend  four  or  five  hours  every  day 
in  his  Highness's  company.  Besides,  as  I  am  cleverer  than 
he  is,  he  would  think  me  a  monster  before  the  first  month 
was  out. 

"  The  late  prince  was  spiteful  and  envious,  but  he  had 
fought  as  a  soldiier,  and  commanded  troops,  and  that  had 
given  him  a  certain  sense  of  deportment.  There  were  the 
makings  of  a  prince  in  him,  and  with  him  I  could  behave 
as  a  minister,  whether  good  or  bad.  But  with  this  honest 
son  of  his,  in  spite  of  all  his  candour  and  real  kind-hearted- 
ness, I  am  obliged  to  resort  to  intrigue.  I  find  myself  the 
rival  of  the  veriest  old  woman  among  his  courtiers,  and  a 
rival  in  an  inferior  position,  too,  for  I  shall  certainly  despise 
scores  of  precautions  which  I  ought  to  take.  For  instance, 
three  days  ago,  one  of  those  women  who  lay  out  clean 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

towels  in  all  his  rooms  contrived  to  mislay  the  key  of  one 
of  the  prince's  English  writing-tables.  Whereupon  his 
Highness  refused  to  attend  to  any  of  the  business,  the  papers 
for  which  were  in  that  particular  receptacle.  For  twenty 
francs  we  might  have  had  the  board  at  the  back  of  the  writ- 
ing-table removed,  or  have  had  the  lock  opened  with  a  false 
key.  But  Ranuzio-Ernest  V  informed  me  that  such  a  pro- 
ceeding would  give  the  court  locksmith  bad  habits. 

"  So  far  he  has  never  contrived  to  be  of  the  same  mind 
three  days  running.  If  the  young  prince  had  been  born  a 
marquis,  with  a  large  fortune,  he  would  have  been  one  of 
the  most  worthy  men  about  his  own  court — a.  sort  of  Louis 
XVI.  But  how  is  that  pious  simplicity  of  his  to  escape  all 
the  skilful  ambushes  that  surround  him  ?  Thus  your  friend 
the  Raversi's  salon  is  more  powerful  than  ever.  Its  fre- 
quenters have  discovered  that  I,  who  had  the  populace  fired 
on,  and  who  was  resolved,  if  necessary,  to  kill  three  thousand 
of  them,  sooner  than  permit  any  insult  to  the  statue  of  the 
prince,  who  had  been  my  master,  am  a  violent  Liberal; 
that  I  tried  to  get  a  constitution  signed,  and  more  stuff  of 
the  same  kind.  With  such  republican  stories,  these  mad- 
men would  prevent  us  from  enjoying  even  the  best  of 
monarchies.  .  .  .  You,  madam,  in  fine,  are  the  only  existing 
member  of  that  Liberal  party  at  the  head  of  which  my 
enemies  have  placed  me,  of  whom  the  prince  has  not  spoken 
in  harsh  terms.  The  archbishop,  who  is  still  a  perfectly  up- 
right man,  is  in  thorough  disgrace,  because  he  used  reason- 
able language  about  what  I  did  on  the  unlucky  day. 

"  On  the  day  after  that  which  was  not  then,  as  yet,  known 
as  *  unlucky,'  while  it  was  still  true  that  a  revolt  had  taken 
place,  the  prince  told  the  archbishop  that  he  was  going  to 
make  me  a  duke,  so  that  you  might  not  have  to  take  an 
inferior  title  when  you  married  me.  To-day,  I  fancy,  it  is 
Rassi,  whom  I  ennobled  for  selling  me  the  late  prince's 
secrets,  who  will  be  made  a  count.  In  face  of  such  promo- 
tion as  that,  I  should  look  like  a  fool." 

"  And  the  poor  prince  will  degrade  himself." 

"  No  doubt  of  that.  But,  after  all,  he  is  master  here, 
and  in  less  than  a  fortnight,  that  fact  will  still  the  voice  of 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ridicule.  Therefore,  dear  duchess,  let  us  do  as  we  should 
do  if  we  were  playing  tric-trac.    Let  us  withdraw." 

"  But  we  shall  be  anything  but  rich !  " 

"  After  iill,  neither  you  nor  I  need  luxury.  If  yoU  will 
give  me  a  seat  in  yoUr  box  at  the  San  Carlo,  ahd  a  horse  to 
rid6,  I  shall  be  more  than  content.  It  will  never  be  the 
luxury^  greater  or  lesS)  in  which  we  live,  that  will  insure  our 
position ;  it  will  be  the  pleasure  the  clever  folk  of  the  place 
may  find  in  drinking  a  cup  of  tea  in  your  drawing-room." 

"  But,"  replied  the  duchess,  "  what  would  have  happened 
on  the  unlucky  day  if  you  had  held  yourself  apart,  as  I  trust 
you  will  do  in  future  ?  " 

"  The  troops  would  have  fraternized  with  the  populace, 
there  would  have  been  three  days  of  killing  and  burning ; — 
for  it  will  be  a  century,  yet,  before  a  republic  can  cease  to 
be  an  anomaly  in  this  country.  After  that,  a  fortnight's 
pillage,  until  two  or  three  foreign  regiments  had  been  sent 
in  to  quell  the  disorder.  Ferrante  Palla  was  in  the  midst  of 
the  populace,  as  brave,  and  as  raging  mad,  as  usual.  He 
had  some  dozen  friends  backing  him  up,  no  doubt,  and  out 
of  that  Rassi  will  make  a  fine  conspiracy.  One  thing  is  cer- 
tain; that,  though  he  wore  an  incredibly  tattered  coat,  he 
was  distributing  money  by  handsful  in  every  direction." 

Astounded  by  all  this  news,  the  duchess  hurried  ofT  to 
present  her  acknowledgments  to  the  princess.  The  moment 
she  entered  the  royal  apartment,  the  lady-in-waiting  pre- 
sented her  with  the  little  gold  key,  to  be  worn  at  the  waist, 
which  is  the  symbol  of  supreme  authority  in  that  portion  of 
the  palace  ruled  by  the  princess.  Clara  Paolina  lost  no  time 
in  dismissing  all  her  attendants.  For  the  first  moments  after 
she  was  left  alone  with  her  friend,  her  manner  and  speech 
were  neither  of  them  absolutely  frank.  The  duchess,  who 
could  not  understand  what  this  meant,  was  very  cautious  in 
her  answers.  At  last  the  princess  burst  into  tears,  and  throw- 
ing herself  into  the  duchess's  arms,  exclaimed : 

"  My  misfortunes  are  beginning  afresh.  My  son  will 
treat  me  worse  than  his  father  did." 

"  I'll  take  good  care  he  does  not,"  replied  the  duchess 
vehemently.    "  But  in  the  first  place,"  she  went  on,  "  I  must 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

beg  your  Most  Serene  Highness  to  condescend  to  accept  all 
my  gratitude  and  my  humblest  duty." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  exclaimed  the  princess,  alarmed 
at  the  thought  of  a  possible  resignation. 

"  What  I  mean  is,  that  whenever  your  Most  Serene  High- 
ness gives  me  leave  to  turn  the  shaking  chin  of  yonder 
Chinese  monster  on  the  chimneypiece  to  the  right,  you 
will  give  me  permission,  too,  to  call  things  by  their  real 
names." 

"  Is  that  all,  my  dear  duchess  ?  "  exclaimed  Clara  Paolina, 
rising,  and  herself  placing  the  monster's  chin  in  the  required 
position.  "  Speak  now,  with  perfect  freedom,"  she  added,  in 
the  most  gracious  fashion. 

"  Madam,"  replied  the  duchess,  "  your  Highness  has 
grasped  the  position  perfectly.  Both  you  and  I  are  in  a  most 
dangerous  position.  Fabrizio's  sentence  is  not  annulled. 
Consequently,  whenever  there  is  any  desire  to  get  rid  of  me, 
and  insult  you,  he  will  be  cast  into  prison  again.  Our  posi- 
tion is  as  bad  as  ever  it  was.  As  regards  myself  personally, 
I  am  going  to  marry  the  count,  and  we  shall  settle  at  Naples 
or  in  Paris.  The  final  stroke  of  ingratitude  from  which  the 
count  is  suffering  at  the  present  moment,  has  thoroughly 
sickened  him ;  and  save  for  your  Serene  Highness's  sake, 
I  should  not  advise  him  to  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  this  mess,  unless  the  prince  were  to  g^ve  him  an  enor- 
mous sum  of  money.  I  will  ask  your  Highness's  leave  to 
explain  that  the  count,  who  had  a  hundred  and  thirty  thou- 
sand francs  when  he  first  entered  politics,  owns  barely  twenty 
thousand  francs  a  year  at  the  present  time.  In  vain  have  I 
besought  him,  this  ever  so  long,  to  consider  his  own  pocket. 
During  my  absence  he  has  picked  a  quarrel  with  the  prince's 
farmers-general,  who  were  scoundrels.  The  count  has  re- 
placed them  by  other  scoundrels,  whohav^  g^yen  him  eight 
hundred  thousand  francs." 

"  What !  "  exclain^ed ,  the .  astonjished  iprincess.  "  GqO(d 
heavens,  how  sorry.  I  ana.tO;hear,4:hatl''' 

"  Madam,"  replied  the  duchess,,  with  the  most  absolute 
CQolness,  "  shall  I  turn  the  monster's  head  to  the  left?  " 

"•N9,,no,.,in4e,e.dL"  exclaimed  the  princess;  "but  I  am 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

sorry  that  a  man  of  the  count's  character  should  have 
thought  of  gain  of  that  description." 

"  But  for  this  theft  he  would  have  been  despised  by  all 
honest  folk." 

"  Good  God !  can  that  be  possible  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  replied  the  duchess,  "  except  my  friend  the 
Marchese  Crescenzi,  who  has  four  or  five  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year  of  his  own,  every  soul  in  this  place  steals.  And 
how  should  they  not  steal,  in  a  country  where  gratitude  for 
the  greatest  services  does  not  last  quite  a  month  ?  Therefore 
the  only  real  thing  which  outlives  disgrace  is  money. 
Madam,  I  am  about  to  venture  on  some  terrible  truths." 

"  I  give  you  leave,"  said  the  princess  with  a  deep  sigh ; 
"  and  yet  they  hurt  me  cruelly !  " 

"  Well,  then,  madam,  the  prince,  your  son,  a  perfectly 
upright  man,  may  make  you  far  more  wretched  than  his 
father  did.  The  late  prince's  nature  was  very  much  like  that 
of  other  men.  Our  present  sovereign  is  never  sure  of  desir- 
ing the  same  thing  for  three  days  on  end.  Consequently,  to 
be  sure  of  him,  one  must  live  perpetually  with  him,  and  never 
let  him  speak  to  any  one  else.  As  this  truth  is  not  very  diffi- 
cult to  divine,  the  new  ultra  party,  led  by  those  two  wise 
heads,  Rassi  and  the  Marchesa  Raversi,  will  endeavour  to 
provide  the  prince  with  a  mistress.  This  mistress  will  be 
given  '  carte  blanche '  to  make  her  own  fortune,  and  to  dis- 
pose of  some  inferior  posts.  But  she  will  have  to  answer  to 
the  party  for  her  master's  constant  goodwill. 

"  To  be  thoroughly  well-established  at  your  Highness's 
court,  I  must  have  Rassi  spumed  and  banished.  Further,  I 
must  have  Fabrizio  tried  by  the  most  upright  judges  who 
can  be  found.  If,  as  I  hope,  these  judges  recognise  his 
innocence,  it  will  be  only  natural  to  grant  the  archbishop's 
wish  that  Fabrizio  shall  be  his  coadjutor,  and  his  ultimate 
successor.  If  I  fail,  the  count  and  I  will  forthwith  retire. 
In  that  case  I  leave  your  Serene  Highness  this  farewell  ad- 
vice: You  must  never  forgive  Rassi,  and  you  must  never 
leave  your  son's  dominions.  So  long  as  you  keep  near  him, 
your  good  son  will  never  do  you  any  serious  harm." 

"  I  have  followed  your  arguments  with  all  the  attention 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

they  deserve,"  replied  the  princess  with  a  smile.  "  But  am 
I,  then,  to  undertake  the  care  of  finding  a  mistress  for  my 
son?" 

"  Not  that,  indeed,  madam !  But  see  to  it  that  your 
drawing-room  shall  be  the  only  one  in  which  he  finds  amuse- 
ment." 

On  this  subject  the  conversation  ran  on  endlessly.  The 
scales  were  falling  from  the  eyes  of  the  innocent  and  intel- 
ligent princess.  The  duchess  sent  a  courier  to  Fabrizio,  to 
tell  him  he  might  enter  the  city,  but  that  he  must  conceal 
himself.  Hardly  any  one  saw  him.  Dressed  as  a  peasant, 
he  spent  his  whole  time  in  the  wooden  booth  which  a  chest- 
nut seller  had  set  up  under  the  trees  of  the  square,  just 
opposite  the  citadel  gates. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

The  duchess  arranged  the  most  delightful  evenings  at 
the  palace,  where  so  much  gaiety  had  never  been  seen  before. 
Never  did  she  make  herself  more  attractive  than  during  this 
winter,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  living  in  circum- 
stances of  the  greatest  danger.  Nevertheless,  through  all 
this  critical  time  she  never  gave  a  thought  of  sadness,  save 
on  one  or  two  occasions,  to  the  strange  alteration  which 
had  taken  place  in  Fabrizio.  The  young  prince  used  to  come 
very  early  to  his  mother's  pleasant  evening  parties,  and  she 
never  failed  to  say  to  him : 

"  Do  go  and  attend  to  your  government  duties !  I  am 
certain  there  are  more  than  a  score  of  reports  lying  on  your 
table,  waiting  for  a  '  yes '  or  *  no '  from  you,  and  I  do  not 
choose  to  have  it  said  all  over  Europe  that  I  am  trying  to 
turn  you  into  a  '  Roi  faineant,'  so  that  I  may  reign  in  your 
stead." 

These  remarks  always  suffered  from  the  drawback  of 
being  dropped  at  the  most  inopportune  moment — that  is  to 
say,  just  when  his  Highness  had  overcome  his  natural  shy- 
ness and  was  enjoying  himself  very  much,  acting  some 
charade.  Twice  a  week  there  were  parties  in  the  country, 
to  which  the  princess,  on  the  plea  of  reconquering  the  affec- 
tions of  his  people  for  the  young  sovereign,  invited  the  pret- 
tiest women  of  the  middle  class.  The  duchess,  who  was 
the  soul  of  the  merry  court,  was  in  hopes  that  these  fair 
ladies,  who  all  looked  with  an  eye  of  mortal  jealousy  on  the 
success  of  their  fellow  bourgeois,  Rassi,  would  make  the 
prince  acquainted  with  some  of  that  minister's  endless  ras- 
calities. For,  among  other  childish  notions,  the  prin,CQ, 
claimed  to  possess.a.raoxal .ministry. 

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The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Rassi  had  too  much  good  sense  not  to  realize  how  much 
harm  these  brilliant  parties,  managed  by  his  enemy  at  the 
princess's  court,  were  likely  to  do  him.  He  had  not  chosen 
to  make  over  the  perfectly  legal  sentence  passed  on  Fabrizio, 
to  Count  Mosca.  It  had  therefore  become  necessary  that 
either  he  or  the  duchess  should  disappear  from  court. 

On  the  day  of  that  popular  tumult,  the  existence  of  which 
it  was  now  the  correct  thing  to  deny,  money  had  certainly 
been  circulated  among  the  people,  Rassi  made  this  his 
starting-point.  Dressed  even  more  shabbily  than  was  his 
wont,  he  found  his  way  into  the  most  wretched  houses  in 
the  city,  and  spent  whole  hours  in  close  confabulation  with 
their  poverty-stricken  denizens.  His  efforts  were  richly  re- 
warded. After  a  fortnight  spent  in  this  fashion,  he  had  made 
certain  that  Ferrante  Palla  had  been  the  secret  leader  of  the 
insurrection,  and  further,  that  this  man,  who  had  been  as 
poor  as  a  great  poet  should  be,  all  his  life,  had  sent  eight  or 
ten  diamonds  to  be  sold  at  Genoa. 

Among  others,  five  valuable  stones  were  mentioned, 
really  worth  more  than  forty  thousand  francs,  but  for  which 
thirty-five  thousand  francs  had  been  accepted  ten  days  before 
the  prince's  death,  because,  so  the  vendors  said,  the  money  was 
wanted. 

The  minister's  transports  of  delight  over  this  discovery 
were  indescribable.  He  had  perceived  that  fun  was  being; 
constantly  poked  at  him  in  the  princess  dowager's  courts 
and  several  times  over,  when  the  prince  was  talking  busi- 
ness with  him,  he  had  laughed  in  his  face,  with  all  the  art- 
lessness  of  youth.  Rassi,  it  must  be  confessed,  had  some- 
singularly  vulgar  habits.  For  instance,  as  soon  as  he  grew 
interested  in  a  discussion,  he  would  cross  his  legs,  and  take 
hold  of  his  shoe.  If  his  interest  deepened  he  would  spread 
out  his  red  cotton  handkerchief  over  his  knee.  The  prince 
had  laughed  heartily  at  a  joke  played  by  one  of  the  prettiest 
women  of  Rassi's  own  class,  who,  well  aware  that  she  her- 
self possessed  a  very  pretty  leg,  had  given  him  an  imitation: 
of  the  graceful  gesture  habitual  to  the  Minister  of  Justice. 

Rassi  craved  a  special  audience,  and  said  to  the  prince : 

"  Would  your  Highness  be  disposed  to  give  a  hundredl 

447 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

thousand  francs  to  know  the  exact  nature  of  your  august 
father's  death?  With  that  sum  we  should  be  able  to  bring 
the  culprits  to  justice,  if  they  exist." 

The  prince's  answer  was  a  foregone  conclusion. 

Within  a  short  time,  Cecchina  informed  the  duchess  that 
she  had  been  offered  a  large  sum  of  money  if  she  would 
allow  a  jeweller  to  see  her  mistress's  diamonds — a  proposal 
which  she  had  scornfully  refused.  The  duchess  scolded  her 
for  having  refused,  and  a  week  later  Cecchina  was  able  to 
show  the  diamonds.  On  the  day  fixed  for  their  inspection. 
Count  Mosca  placed  two  reliable  men  to  watch  every  jew- 
eller in  Parma,  and  toward  midnight  he  came  to  tell  the 
duchess  that  the  inquisitive  jeweller  was  no  other  than 
Rassi's  own  brother.  The  duchess,  who  was  in  very  gay 
spirits  that  evening  (there  was  acting  going  on  at  the  palace 
— a  commedia  deU'arte,  in  which  each  personage  invents  the 
dialogue  as  he  proceeds,  only  the  general  plan  of  the  play 
being  posted  up  in  the  side  scenes),  the  duchess,  who  was 
playing  one  of  the  parts,  was  to  be  supported,  as  the  lover  of 
the  piece,  by  Count  Baldi,  the  former  friend  of  the  Mar- 
chesa  Raversi,  who  was  present.  The  prince,  who  was  the 
shyest  man  in  his  dominions,  but  very  good-looking,  and 
exceedingly  soft-hearted,  was  under-studying  Count  Baldi's 
part,  which  he  desired  to  play  at  the  second  performance. 

"  I  have  very  little  time,"  said  the  duchess  to  the  count. 
"  I  come  on  in  the  first  scene  of  the  second  act.  Let  us  go 
into  the  guard-room." 

There,  in  the  presence  of  a  score  of  the  body-guard,  sharp 
fellows  every  one  of  them,  and  eagerly  watching  the  col- 
loquy between  the  Prime  Minister  and  the  mistress  of  the 
robes,  the  duchess  said  to  her  friend,  with  a  laugh : 

"  You  always  scold  me  if  I  tell  secrets  which  need  not 
be  told.  It  is  I  who  brought  Ernest  V  to  the  throne.  I 
wanted  to  avenge  Fabrizio,  whom  I  loved  much  more  than 
I  do  now,  though  very  innocently,  even  then.  I  know  very 
well  you  have  not  much  belief  in  my  innocence,  but  that  mat- 
ters little,  since  you  love  me  in  spite  of  my  crimes.  Well, 
this  crime  is  a  very  real  one.  I  gave  all  my  diamonds  to 
a  very  interesting  kind  of  madman,  by  name  Ferrante  Palla, 

448 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  I  even  kissed  him,  so  as  to  induce  him  to  destroy  the 
man  who  wanted  to  have  Fabrizio  poisoned.  Where  was  the 
harm?" 

"  Ah,  then  that's  how  Ferrante  got  the  money  for  his  re- 
volt ! "  said  the  count.  "  And  you  tell  me  all  this  in  the 
guard-room !  " 

"  I'm  in  a  hurry,  you  see,  and  this  fellow  Rassi  is  on  the 
track  of  the  crime.  It's  very  true  that  I  never  hinted  at  in- 
surrection, for  I  abhor  Jacobins.  Think  it  all  over,  and 
tell  me  your  advice,  after  the  play  is  over." 

"  I  will  tell  you  at  once  that  you  must  make  the  prince 
fall  in  love  with  you  .  .  .  but  in  all  honour,  of  course !  " 

The  duchess  was  being  called  for  on  the  stage,  and  fled. 

A  few  days  later,  the  duchess  received,  by  post,  a  long 
ridiculous  letter,  signed  with  the  name  of  a  person  who 
had  once  been  her  waiting-maid.  The  woman  asked  for 
employment  about  the  court,  but  at  the  first  glance  the 
duchess  realized  that  neither  the  writing  nor  the  style  were 
hers.  When  she  unfolded  the  sheet,  to  read  the  second  page, 
the  duchess  saw  a  little  miraculous  picture  of  the  Madonna 
folded  within  another  leaf,  that  seemed  to  belong  to  an  old 
printed  book,  flutter  to  her. feet.  After  having  glanced  at 
the  picture,  the  duchess  read  a  few  lines  of  the  old  printed 
leaf.  Her  eyes  began  to  shine;  these  were  the  words  she 
had  read : 

"  The  tribune  took  a  hundred  francs  a  month,  no  more. 
With  the  rest  he  strove  to  stir  the  sacred  flame  in  souls 
which  had  been  frozen  by  selfishness.  The  fox  is  on  my 
track ;  that  is  why  I  made  no  attempt  to  see  the  adored  being 
for  the  last  time.  I  said  to  myself :  '  She  has  no  love  for  the 
republic — she,  who  is  so  superior  to  me  in  mind,  as  in  grace 
and  beauty.'  And  besides,  how  can  I  set  up  a  republic  where 
there  are  no  republicans?  Can  I  have  been  mistaken?  In 
six  months  I  shall  be  wandering,  microscope  in  hand, 
through  the  small  American  towns.  So  shall  I  discover 
whether  I  should  continue  to  love  your  sole  rival  in  my 
heart.  If  you  receive  this  letter,  baroness,  and  if  no  profane 
eye  has  seen  it  before  yours,  cause  one  of  the  young  ash 
trees  which  grow  twenty  paces  from  the  spot  where  I  first 

449 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

dared  to  address  you,  to  be  broken  down.  Then  I  will  cause 
to  be  buried,  under  the  great  box  tree  in  the  garden,  which 
you  once  noticed,  in  my  happy  days,  a  coffer  containing  those 
things  which  bring  slander  on  men  of  my  opinions.  Be 
sure  I  should  never  have  ventured  to  write  this,  but  that 
the  fox  is  on  my  track,  and  may  possibly  reach  that  angelic 
being.    Look  under  the  box  tree  a  fortnight  hence." 

"  If  he  has  a  printing  press  at  his  command,"  said  the 
duchess,  "  we  shall  soon  have  a  collection  of  sonnets !  God 
knows  what  name  he  will  give  me  in  them !  " 

The  duchess's  vanity  inspired  her  with  an  experiment. 
She  was  laid  up  for  a  week,  and  there  were  no  parties  at 
court.  The  princess,  who  was  very  much  scandalized  by  all 
that  the  fear  of  her  son  had  forced  her  to  do  during  the  ear- 
lier period  of  her  widowhood,  spent  that  week  in  a  convent 
attached  to  the  church  where  the  late  prince  had  been  buried. 
This  break  in  the  series  of  entertainments  threw  an  enor- 
mous ainount  of  time  on  the  prince's  hands,  and  brought 
about  an  evident  diminution  in  the  credit  of  the  Minister  of 
Justice.  Ernest  V  realized  all  the  dulness  that  threatened 
him  if  the  duchess  should  leave  his  court,  or  even  cease  to 
shed  gaiety  upon  it.  The  evening  parties  began  again,  and 
the  prince  took  more  interest  than  ever  in  the  commedie 
deWarte.  He  was  dying  to  play  a  part  himself,  but  did  not 
dare  to  acknowledge  this  desire.  At  last,  one  day,  he  said 
to  the  duchess,  reddening  very  much,  "  Why  should  I  not 
act,  too?" 

"  We  are  all  at  your  Highness's  command.  If  you  will 
honour  me  with  the  order  I  will  have  the  plan  of  a  play  made 
out.  All  your  Highness's  chief  scenes  shall  be  with  me,  and 
as  every  beginner  must  hesitate  a  little,  if  your  Highness 
will  be  good  enough  to  watch  me  a  little  closely,  I  will  sug- 
gest the  answers  you  should  make."  Thus  everything  was 
settled,  and  in  the  most  skilful  manner.  The  prince,  shy 
as  he  was,  was  ashamed  of  his  shyness,  and  the  care  the 
duchess  took  to  prevent  his  suffering  from  this  inherent 
nervousness  impressed  the  young  sovereign  deeply. 

On  the  day  of  his  first  appearance,  the  performance  began 
earlier  than  usual,  and  when  the  company  moved  into  the 

450 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

theatre  there  were  not  more  than  eight  or  ten  elderly  women 
in  the  drawing-room.  Their  faces  caused  the  prince  no  par- 
ticular alarm,  and  besides,  they  had  all  been  brought  up  at 
Munich,  in  the  most  thoroughly  monarchical  principles,  and 
applauded  dutifully.  The  duchess,  by  virtue  of  her  au- 
thority as  mistress  of  the  robes,  locked  the  door  by  which 
the  mass  of  the  courtiers  usually  passed  into  the  theatre. 
The  prince,  who  had  considerable  literary  intelligence,  and 
was  very  good-looking,  got  through  his  first  scenes  very 
well,  cleverly  repeating  the  sentences  he  read  in  the  duchess's 
eyes,  or  which  she  suggested  in  an  undertone.  Just  when 
the  few  spectators  were  applauding  with  all  their  might,  the 
duchess  made  a  sign ;  the  great  doors  were  thrown  open,  and 
in  a  moment  the  room  was  filled  with  all  the  pretty  women 
of  the  court,  who,  thinking  the  prince's  face  charming,  and 
his  whole  demeanour  thoroughly  happy,  burst  into  applause. 
The  prince  flushed  with  delight.  He  was  playing  the  part 
of  lover  to  the  duchess.  Far  from  suggesting  words  to  him, 
she  was  soon  obliged  to  beg  him  to  shorten  his  scenes.  He 
dilated  on  "  love  "  with  a  fervour  which  frequently  put  the 
actress  quite  out  of  countenance ;  some  of  his  speeches  were 
five  minutes  long.  The  duchess  was  no  longer  the  dazzling 
beauty  she  had  been  a  year  previously.  Fabrizio's  impris- 
onment, and  still  more,  her  stay  on  the  Lago  Maggiore  with 
the  Fabrizio  who  had  grown  gloomy  and  silent,  had  added 
ten  years  to  the  fair  Gina's  appearance.  Her  features  had 
grown  sharper;  there  was  more  intelligence,  and  less  juve- 
nility, about  them.  Very  seldom,  nowadays,  did  they  display 
the  sprightly  humour  of  her  youth.  Yet  on  the  stage, 
rouged,  and  with  the  advantage  of  all  that  art  does  for  an 
actress's  appearance,  she  was  still  the  prettiest  woman  at  the 
court.  The  prince's  passionate  speeches  roused  the  cour- 
tiers' suspicions.  That  evening,  every  man  said  to  his  neigh- 
bour, "  This  is  the  Balbi  of  the  new  reign."  The  count 
raged  within  himself.  When  the  play  was  over,  the  duchess 
said  to  the  prince,  before  the  whole  court  : 

"  Your  Highness  acts  too  well.  People  will  begin  to 
say  you  are  in  love  with  a  woman  of  eight-and-thirty,  and 
that  will  spoil  my  marriage  with  the  count.    So  I  will  not 

451 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

act  any  more  with  your  Highness  unless  your  Highness  will 
promise  you  will  only  address  me  as  you  would  a  woman 
of  a  certain  age — the  Marchesa  Raversi,  for  instance." 

The  performance  was  repeated  three  times  over.  The 
prince  was  wild  with  delight,  but  one  evening  he  looked  very 
much  worried. 

"  Unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,"  said  the  mistress  of 
the  robes  to  the  princess,  "  Rassi  is  trying  to  play  us  some 
trick.  I  would  suggest  that  your  Highness  should  have 
some  acting  to-morrow  night.  The  prince  will  act  badly, 
and  in  his  despair,  he  will  tell  you  something." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  prince  did  act  very  ill;  he  was 
hardly  audible,  and  could  not  contrive  to  wind  up  his  sen- 
tences. By  the  end  of  the  first  act  the  tears  were  almost 
standing  in  his  eyes.  The  duchess  kept  close  beside  him,  but 
she  was  cold  and  unmoved.  The  prince,  finding  himself 
alone  with  her  for  a  moment  in  the  green  room,  went  over  to 
the  door  and  shut  it.    Then  he  said : 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  get  through  the  second  and 
third  acts.  I  will  not  submit  to  being  applauded  out  of  good 
nature.  The  applause  I  was  given  to-night  almost  broke  my 
heart.    Advise  me.    What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  upon  the  stage ;  I  will  make  a  deep  courtesy  to 
her  Highness,  and  another  to  the  audience,  and  I  will  an- 
nounce that  the  actor  who  was  playing  the  part  of  Lelio  has 
been  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  that  therefore  the  play  will  be 
wound  up  with  a  little  music.  Count  Rusca  and  the  little 
Ghisolfi  will  be  too  delighted  to  have  a  chance  of  showing 
off  their  thin  voices  before  such  a  brilliant  assembly." 

The  prince  seized  the  duchess's  hand  and  kissed  it  pas- 
sionately. "  Why  are  you  not  a  man  ?  "  he  cried.  "  You 
would  give  me  good  advice !  Rassi  has  just  laid  a  hundred 
and  eighty-two  depositions  against  the  persons  accused  of 
murdering  my  father  on  my  writing-table,  and  besides  the 
depositions  there  is  an  indictment  which  covers  more  than 
two  hundred  pages.  I  shall  have  to  read  them  all,  and  fur- 
ther, I  have  given  my  word  not  to  say  anything  about  them 
to  the  count.  All  this  is  sure  to  end  in  executions.  Al- 
ready he  is  pressing  me  to  have  Ferrante  Palla,  that  great 

452 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

poet  whom  I  admire  so  much,  carried  off  from  a  place  near 
Antibes,  in  France,  where  he  is  living  under  the  name  of 
Poncet." 

"  From  the  day  when  your  Highness  hangs  a  Liberal, 
Rassi  will  be  bound  to  the  ministry  by  iron  chains,  and  that 
is  what  he  most  earnestly  desires.  But  it  will  not  be  safe  for 
your  Highness  to  let  it  be  known  you  are  going  to  take  a 
drive,  two  hours  before  you  start.  Neither  the  princess  nor 
the  count  shall  hear,  through  me,  of  the  cry  of  anguish  which 
has  just  escaped  you,  but  as  my  oath  forbids  me  to  keep  any 
secret  from  the  princess,  I  shall  be  glad  if  your  Highness  will 
tell  your  mother  what  you  have  just  permitted  me  to  hear." 

This  idea  diverted  the  sovereign's  mind  from  the  distress 
with  which  his  failure  as  an  actor  had  overwhelmed  him. 

"  Very  good.  Go  and  call  my  mother.  I  will  go  straight 
to  her  cabinet." 

The  prince  left  the  theatre,  crossed  the  drawing-room 
leading  to  it,  and  haughtily  dismissed  the  great  chamber- 
lain and  the  aide-de-camp  in  waiting,  who  had  followed  him. 
The  princess,  on  her  part,  hastily  left  the  auditorium.  As 
soon  as  she  had  reached  her  own  apartments  the  duchess 
courtesied  profoundly  to  mother  and  son,  and  left  them  alone 
together.  The  excitement  of  the  courtiers  may  be  conceived ; 
that  is  one  of  the  things  which  makes  a  court  so  entertain- 
ing. In  an  hour's  time,  the  prince  himself  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  cabinet,  and  summoned  the  duchess.  The 
princess  was  in  tears,  the  prince  looked  very  much  dis- 
turbed. 

"  Here  are  two  weak  beings  in  a  bad  temper,"  said 
the  mistress  of  the  robes  to  herself,  "  and  looking  about 
for  some  good  pretext  for  being  angry  with  somebody 
else."  To  begin  with,  mother  and  son  took  the  words  out 
of  each  other's  mouth  in  their  anxiety  to  relate  all  the 
details  of  the  matter  to  the  duchess,  who,  when  she  an- 
swered, was  most  careful  not  to  put  forward  any  idea.  For 
two  mortal  hours  the  three  actors  in  this  wearisome  scene 
never  ceased  playing  the  parts  we  have  just  indicated.  The 
prince  himself  went  to  fetch  the  two  huge  portfolios  Rassi 
had  laid  upon  his  writing-table.    Coming  out  of  his  mother's 

453 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

cabinet,  he  found  the  whole  court  waiting  for  him.  "  Take 
yourselves  off  and  leave  me  alone !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a 
rudeness  which  had  never  been  known  in  him  before.  The 
prince  did  not  choose  to  be  seen  carrying  the  portfolios  him- 
self— a  prince  must  never  carry  anything.  In  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  the  courtiers  disappeared.  When  the  prince  came 
back,  he  found  nobody  in  the  apartment  except  the  footmen, 
who  were  putting  out  the  candles.  He  packed  them  off  in  a 
rage,  and  treated  poor  Fontana,  the  aide-de-camp  in  wait- 
ing, who,  in  his  zeal,  had  stupidly  stayed  behind,  in  the  same 
fashion. 

"  Every  soul  is  set  on  trying  my  patience  this  evening," 
he  said  to  the  duchess  crossly,  as  he  re-entered  the  cabinet. 
He  believed  in  her  cleverness,  and  was  furious  at  her  evi- 
dent determination  not  to  put  forward  any  opinion.  She,  on 
her  part,  was  quite  resolved  she  would  say  nothing  unless 
her  advice  was  expressly  asked.  Thus  another  full  half-hour 
went  by  before  the  prince,  who  was  keenly  alive  to  his  own 
dignity,  could  make  up  his  mind  to  say,  "  But  you  say  noth- 
ing, madam !  " 

"  I  am  here  to  wait  on  the  princess,  and  to  forget  every- 
thing that  is  said  before  me,  instantly." 

"  Very  good,  madam,"  said  the  prince,  reddening  deeply. 
"  I  command  you  to  give  me  your  opinion." 

"  The  object  of  punishing  crimes  is  to  prevent  a  repe- 
tition of  them.  Was  the  late  prince  poisoned  ?  That  is  very 
doubtful.  Was  he  poisoned  by  the  Jacobins  ?  That  is  what 
Rassi  pines  to  prove;  for  thenceforward  he  becomes  indis- 
pensable to  your  Highness  for  all  time.  In  that  case  your 
Highness,  whose  reign  is  just  opening,  may  expect  many 
an  evening  like  this  one.  The  general  opinion  of  your  sub- 
jects, and  it  is  a  perfectly  true  one,  is  that  your  Highness's 
nature  is  full  of  kindness.  So  long  as  your  Highness  does 
not  have  any  Liberal  hanged,  this  reputation  will  remain  to 
you,  and  you  may  be  very  certain  that  no  one  will  think 
of  giving  you  poison." 

"  Your  conclusion  is  quite  clear,"  exclaimed  the  princess 
peevishly.  "  You  don't  desire  to  have  my  husband's  mur- 
derers punished." 

454 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  Madam,  that,  I  suppose,  is  because  I  am  bound  to  them 
by  ties  of  the  tenderest  friendship." 

The  duchess  read  clearly  in  the  prince's  eyes  that  he  be- 
lieved her  to  be  thoroughly  agreed  with  his  mother  on  some 
line  of  conduct  to  be  dictated  to  him.  A  somewhat  rapid 
succession  of  bitter  repartees  was  exchanged  between  the 
ladies,  at  the  end  of  which  the  duchess  vowed  she  would 
not  say  another  word,  and  to  this  resolution  she  steadily  ad- 
hered. But  the  prince,  after  a  long  discussion  with  his 
mother,  ordered  her  once  more  to  tell  him  her  opinion. 

"  I  can  assure  both  your  Highnesses  I  will  do  nothing 
of  the  kind." 

"  But  this  is  mere  childishness !  "  exclaimed  the  prince. 

"  Duchess,  I  beg  you  will  speak,"  said  the  princess  with 
much  dignity. 

"  I  beg  your  Highness  will  excuse  my  doing  so.  But," 
continued  the  duchess,  addressing  herself  to  the  prince, 
"  your  Highness  reads  French  beautifully.  To  soothe  our 
agitated  feelings,  would  your  Highness  read  us  one  of  La 
Fontaine's  fables  ?  " 

The  princess  thought  the  expression  "  us  "  exceedingly 
impertinent,  but  she  looked  at  once  astonished  and  amused 
when  the  mistress  of  the  robes,  who  had  calmly  gone  over 
to  the  bookcase  and  opened  it,  came  back  carrying  a  volume 
of  La  Fontaine's  Fables.  She  turned  over  the  leaves  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  then,  handing  the  prince  the  book,  she 
said :  "  I  beseech  your  Highness  to  read  the  whole  fable." 

LE  JARDINIER   ET  SON   SEIGNEUR 

Un  amateur  de  jardinage 

Demi-bourgeois,  demi-manant, 

Possidait  en  certain  village 
Un  jardin  assez  propre,  et  le  clos  attenant. 
II  avait  de  plant  vif  fermfe  cette  6tendue  : 
Lk  croissaient  k  plaisir  I'oseille  et  la  laitue, 
De  quoi  faire  k  Margot  pour  sa  fSte  un  bouquet, 
Peu  de  jasmin  d'Espagne  et  force  serpolet. 
Cette  f£licit6  par  un  liftvre  troubl6e 
Fit  qu'au  seigneur  du  bourg  notre  homme  se  plaignit. 
Ce  maudit  animal  vient  prendre  sa  goul^ 
Soir  et  matin,  dit-il,  et  des  pi^ges  se  rit ; 

455 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Les  pierres,  les  batons  y  perdent  leur  credit ; 
II  est  sorcier,  je  crois.  —  Sorcier !  je  Ten  d6fie, 
Repartit  le  seigneur  :  fut-il  diable,  Miraut, 
En  d6pit  de  ses  tours,  I'attrapera  bientot. 
Je  vous  en  d6ferai,  bonhomme,  sur  ma  vie. 

—  Et  quand?  —  Et  des  demain,  sans  tarder  plus  longtemps 
La  partie  ainsi  faite,  il  vient  avec  ses  gens. 

—  (^k,  d6jeunons,  dit-il  :  vos  poulets  sont-ils  tendres  ? 

L'embarras  des  chasseurs  succfede  au  d6jeun6. 

Chacun  s'anime  et  se  prepare  ; 
Les  trompes  et  les  cors  font  un  tel  tintamarre, 

Que  le  bonhomme  est  6tonn6. 
Le  pis  fut  que  Ton  mit  en  piteux  Equipage 
Le  pauvre  potager.     Adieu  planches,  carreaux  ; 

Adieu  chicorde  et  poireaux  ; 

Adieu  de  quoi  mettre  au  potage. 
•  •••••••• 

Le  bonhomme  disait :  Ce  sont  \k  jeux  de  prince. 
Mais  on  le  laissait  dire ;  et  les  chiens  et  les  gens 
Firent  plus  de  d6gat  en  une  heure  de  temps 

Que  n'en  auraient  fait  en  cent  ans 

Tous  les  lifevres  de  la  province. 

Petits  princes,  videz  vos  d6bats  entre  vous  ; 
De  recourir  aux  rois  vous  seriez  de  grands  fous. 
II  ne  les  faut  jamais  engager  dans  vos  guerres, 
J^i  les  /aire  entrer  sur  vos  terres. 

After  the  reading  a  long  silence  ensued.  The  prince  put 
the  book  back  in  its  place  himself,  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"  Well,  madam,"  said  the  princess,  "  will  you  deign  to 
speak  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  madam ;  not  until  his  Highness  has  ap- 
pointed me  his  minister.  If  I  were  to  speak  here  I  should 
run  the  risk  of  losing  my  post  as  mistress  of  the  robes." 

Silence  fell  again,  for  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour.  At  last 
the  princess  bethought  her  of  the  part  once  played  by  Marie 
de  Medicis,  mother  of  Louis  XIII.  Every  day,  for  some 
time  previously,  the  mistress  of  the  robes  had  caused  Mons. 
Bazin's  excellent  History  of  Louis  XIII  to  be  read  to  her 
Highness.    The  princess,  vexed  though  she  was,  considered 

456 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

that  the  duchess  might  very  likely  leave  the  country,  and  that 
then  Rassi,  of  whom  she  was  horribly  afraid,  would  quite 
possibly  follow  Richelieu's  example,  and  induce  her  son  to 
banish  her.  At  that  moment  the  princess  would  have  given 
anything  she  had  on  earth  to  be  able  to  humiliate  her  mis- 
tress of  the  robes.  But  she  was  powerless.  She  rose  from 
her  seat,  and  with  a  smile  which  had  a  touch  of  exaggeration 
about  it  she  took  the  duchess's  hand,  and  said : 

"  Come,  madam,  prove  your  affection  for  me  by  speak- 
ing!" 

"  Two  words  then,  and  no  more.  All  the  papers  col- 
lected by  that  viper  Rassi  should  be  burned  in  this  fire- 
place, and  he  must  never  know  they  have  been  burned." 
Whispering  in  the  princess's  ear,  she  added,  with  a  famil- 
iar air: 

"  Rassi  may  be  a  Richelieu." 

"  But,  devil  take  it,"  cried  the  prince,  much  vexed, 
"  these  papers  have  cost  me  more  than  eighty  thousand 
francs ! " 

"  Prince,"  replied  the  duchess  passionately,  "  now  you 
see  what  it  costs  you  to  employ  low-born  rogues  I  Would 
to  God  you  might  lose  a  million  rather  than  that  you  should 
ever  place  your  faith  in  the  vile  scoundrels  who  robbed  your 
father  of  his  peaceful  sleep  for  the  last  six  years  of  his 
reign !  " 

The  word  low-born  had  given  great  pleasure  to  the 
princess,  who  held  that  the  count  and  his  friend  were  some- 
what too  exclusive  in  their  esteem  for  intelligence — always 
nearly  related  to  Jacobinism. 

During  the  short  moment  of  deep  silence  filled  up  by  the 
princess's  reflections,  the  castle  clock  struck  three.  The 
princess  rose,  courtesied  profoundly  to  her  son,  and  said: 
"  My  health  will  not  permit  me  to  prolong  this  discussion 
any  further.  Never  employ  a  low-born  minister !  You  will 
never  convince  me  that  Rassi  has  not  stolen  half  the  money 
he  made  you  spend  on  espionage."  The  princess  took  two 
tapers  out  of  the  candlesticks,  and  set  them  in  the  fireplace, 
so  that  they  still  remained  alight.  Then,  drawing  nearer  to 
her  son,  she  added :  "  In  my  case.  La  Fontaine's  fable  over- 

457 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

rides  my  just  longing  to  avenge  my  husband.  Will  your 
Highness  give  me  leave  to  burn  these  writings  ?  '* 

The  prince  stood  motionless. 

"  He  really  has  a  stupid  face,"  said  the  duchess  to  herself. 
"  The  count  is  quite  right,  the  late  prince  would  never  have 
kept  us  till  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  before  he  could  make 
up  his  mind." 

The  princess,  who  was  still  standing,  continued: 

"  That  lawyer-fellow  would  be  very  proud  if  he  knew 
his  papers,  all  of  them  crammed  with  lies,  and  cooked  up  to 
secure  his  own  advancement,  had  kept  the  two  greatest  per- 
sonages in  the  state  awake  all  night !  " 

The  prince  flew  at  the  portfolios  like  a  fury,  and  emptied 
their  contents  on  to  the  hearth.  The  weight  of  the  papers 
very  nearly  stifled  the  two  candles ;  the  room  was  filled  with 
smoke.  The  princess  saw  in  her  son's  eyes  that  he  was 
sorely  tempted  to  seize  a  water-bottle,  and  save  the  docu- 
ments that  had  cost  him  a  hundred  thousand  francs. 

She  called  to  the  duchess  sharply,  "  Why  don't  you  open 
the  window  ?  "  The  duchess  hastened  to  obey.  Instantly  all 
the  papers  flamed  up  together;  there  was  a  great  roar  in 
the  chimney,  and  soon  it  became  evident  that  it,  too,  had 
caught  fire. 

In  all  money  matters,  the  prince  was  a  mean  man.  He 
fancied  he  saw  his  palace  blazing,  and  all  the  treasures  it  con- 
tained destroyed.  Rushing  to  the  window,  he  shouted  for 
the  Guard,  and  his  tone  was  quite  wild.  At  the  sound  of  the 
prince's  voice,  the  soldiers  ran  tumultuously  into  the  court. 
He  came  back  to  the  fireplace,  up  which  the  air  from  the  open 
window  was  rushing,  with  a  noise  that  was  really  alarming. 
He  lost  his  temper,  swore,  took  two  or  three  turns  up  and 
down  the  room,  like  a  man  beside  himself,  and  finally  ran 
out  of  it. 

The  princess  and  her  mistress  of  the  robes  were  left 
standing,  facing  each  other,  in  the  deepest  silence, 

"  Is  she  going  to  be  in  a  rage  again  ?  "  said  the  duchess 
to  herself.  "  Well,  my  cause  is  won,  at  any  rate !  "  and  she 
was  just  making  up  her  mind  to  return  very  impertinent 
answers,  when  a  thought  flashed  across  her — she  had  noticed 

458 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  second  portfolio  standing  untouched.  "  No,  my  cause 
is  only  half  won,"  she  thought,  and  she  addressed  the 
princess,  somewhat  coldly,  "  Have  I  your  Highness's  com- 
mands to  burn  the  rest  of  these  papers  ?  " 

"  And  where  will  you  bum  them,  pray  ?  "  inquired  the 
princess  crossly. 

"  In  the  drawing-room  fireplace.  If  I  throw  them  in  one 
after  the  other  there  will  be  no  danger." 

The  duchess  thrust  the  portfolio,  bursting  with  papers, 
under  her  arm,  took  a  candle  in  her  hand,  and  went  into  the 
adjoining  drawing-room.  She  gave  herself  time  to  make 
sure  that  this  particular  portfolio  held  the  depositions,  hid 
five  or  six  packets  of  papers  under  her  shawl,  burned  the 
rest  very  carefully,  and  slipped  out  without  taking  leave  of 
the  princess. 

"  Here's  a  fine  piece  of  impertinence,"  she  said  with  a 
laugh,  "  But  with  her  affectations  of  inconsolable  widow- 
hood, she  very  nearly  brought  my  head  to  the  scaffold." 

When  the  princess  heard  the  noise  of  the  duchess's  car- 
riage, she  was  filled  with  anger  against  her  mistress  of  the 
robes. 

In  spite  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  the  duchess  sent  for 
the  count.  He  had  gone  to  the  fire  at  the  palace,  but  he 
soon  appeared,  bringing  news  that  it  was  all  over.  "  The 
young  prince  really  showed  a  great  deal  of  courage,  and  I 
paid  him  my  heartiest  compliments." 

"  Look  quickly  over  these  depositions,  and  let  us  burn 
them  as  fast  as  we  can." 

The  count  read  and  turned  pale. 

"  Upon  my  word,  they  had  got  very  near  the  truth.  The 
investigation  has  been  most  skilfully  conducted.  They  are 
quite  on  Ferrante  Palla's  track,  and  if  he  speaks,  we  shall 
have  a  difficult  card  to  play." 

"  But  he  won't  speak,"  cried  the  duchess.  "  That  man  is 
a  man  of  honour !     Now  into  the  fire  with  them !  " 

"  Not  yet.  Let  me  take  down  the  names  of  ten  or  fifteen 
dangerous  witnesses,  whom  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  spirit- 
ing away,  if  Rassi  ever  attempts  to  begin  again." 

"  Let  me  remind  your  Excellency  that  the  prince  has 

459 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

gfiven  his  word  not  to  tell  the  Minister  of  Justice  anything 
about  our  nocturnal  performance." 

"  And  he  will  keep  it,  out  of  cowardice,  and  because  he 
hates  a  scene." 

"  Now,  my  dear  friend,  this  night's  work  has  done  a  great 
deal  to  hasten  on  our  marriage.  I  never  would  have  brought 
you  a  trial  in  the  criminal  courts  as  my  dowry,  more  espe- 
cially for  a  wrong  I  did  on  account  of  my  interest  in  another 
person." 

The  count  was  in  love.  He  caught  her  hand  protest- 
ingly;  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"  Before  you  leave  me,  pray  give  me  some  advice  about 
my  behaviour  to  the  princess.  I  am  worn  out  with  fatigue. 
I  have  been  acting  for  an  hour  on  the  stage,  and  for  five 
hours  in  her  Highness's  cabinet." 

"  The  impertinent  manner  of  your  departure  has  avenged 
you  amply  for  the  princess's  disagreeable  remarks,  which 
were  only  a  proof  of  weakness.  When  you  see  her  to- 
morrow, take  the  same  tone  as  that  you  used  this  morning. 
Rassi  is  neither  an  exile  nor  a  prisoner  yet,  nor  have  we  torn 
up  Fabrizio's  sentence. 

"  You  pressed  the  princess  to  make  a  decision ;  that 
always  puts  princes,  and  even  prime  ministers,  out  of  tem- 
per. And  besides,  after  all,  you  are  her  mistress  of  the 
robes ;  in  other  words,  her  humble  servant.  A  revulsion  of 
feeling  which  is  invariable  with  weak  natures  will  make 
Rassi's  favour  higher  than  ever  within  three  days.  He  will 
strive  to  ruin  somebody,  but  until  he  has  compromised  the 
prince,  he  can  be  sure  of  nothing. 

"  There  was  a  man  hurt  at  the  fire  to-night — a  tailor. 
Upon  my  soul,  he  showed  the  most  extraordinary  courage. 
To-morrow  I  will  suggest  that  the  prince  should  walk  out, 
leaning  on  my  arm,  and  pay  a  visit  to  that  tailor.  I  shall 
be  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  I  will  keep  a  sharp  lookout. 
And,  indeed,  so  far,  no  one  hates  this  young  prince.  I  want 
to  give  him  the  habit  of  walking  about  in  the  streets — a  trick 
I  shall  play  on  Rassi,  who  will  certainly  succeed  me,  and 
who  will  not  be  able  to  allow  him  to  do  anything  so  im- 
prudent.    On  our  way  back  from  the  tailor's  house,  I'll  bring 

460 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  prince  past  his  father's  statue;  he'll  see  how  the  stones 
have  broken  the  skirt  of  the  Roman  tunic  with  which  the 
fool  of  a  sculptor  has  adorned  the  figure,  and  he  must  be  a 
prince  of  very  limited  intelligence  indeed  if  he  is  not  in- 
spired with  the  remark,  *  This  is  what  one  gets  by  hanging 
Jacobins,'  to  which  I  shall  reply,  '  You  must  either  hang 
ten  thousand,  or  not  a  single  one ;  the  massacre  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew destroyed  Protestantism  in  France.' 

"  To-morrow,  dearest  friend,  before  I  start  on  my  ex- 
pedition, you  must  wait  upon  the  prince,  and  say  to  him: 
*  Last  night  I  acted  as  your  minister ;  I  gave  you  advice,  and 
in  obeying  your  orders  I  incurred  the  displeasure  of  the 
princess.  You  must  reward  me.'  He  will  think  you  are 
going  to  ask  him  for  money,  and  will  begin  to  knit  his 
brows.  You  must  leave  him  to  struggle  with  this  unpleasant 
thought  as  long  as  possible.  Then  you  will  say :  '  I  entreat 
your  Highness  to  give  orders  that  Fabrizio  shall  be  tried 
after  hearing  both  parties — that  is  to  say,  that  Fabrizio  him- 
self shall  be  present — by  the  twelve  most  respected  judges  in 
your  dominions,'  and  without  losing  a  moment  you  will  beg 
his  signature  to  a  short  order  written  by  your  own  fair  hand, 
which  I  will  now  dictate  to  you.  Of  course  I  shall  insert  a 
clause  to  the  effect  that  the  first  sentence  is  annulled.  To 
this  there  is  only  one  objection,  but  if  you  carry  the  business 
through  quickly,  it  will  not  occur  to  the  prince. 

"  He  may  say,  *  Fabrizio  must  give  himself  up  again  at 
the  fortress.'  You  will  reply,  '  He  will  give  himself  up  at 
the  city  jail '  (you  know  I  am  master  there,  and  your  nephew 
will  be  able  to  come  and  see  you  every  evening).  If  the 
prince  answers,  *  No ;  his  flight  has  smirched  the  honour  of 
my  citadel,  and  as  a  matter  of  form,  I  insist  on  his  going 
back  to  the  room  he  occupied  there,*  you  in  your  turn  will 
say,  *  No ;  for  there  he  would  be  at  the  mercy  of  my  enemy 
Rassi,'  and  by  one  of  those  womanly  hints  you  know  so 
well  how  to  insinuate,  you  will  make  him  understand  that  to 
work  on  Rassi,  you  might  possibly  inform  him  as  to  this 
night's  auto  da  fe.  If  the  prince  persists,  you  will  say  you 
are  going  away  to  your  house  at  Sacca  for  ten  days. 

"  You  must  send  for  Fabrizio,  and  consult  with  him 
461 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

about  this  step,  which  may  bring  him  back  into  his  prison. 
We  must  foresee  everything,  and  if,  while  he  is  under  lock 
and  key,  Rassi  loses  patience,  and  has  me  poisoned,  Fabrizio 
might  be  in  danger.     But  this  is  not  very  probable. 

"  You  know  I  have  brought  over  a  French  cook,  who  is 
the  cheeriest  of  men,  always  making  puns ;  now,  punning  is 
incompatible  with  murder.  I  have  already  told  our  Fabrizio 
that  I  have  discovered  all  the  witnesses  of  his  brave  and 
noble  behaviour.  It  is  quite  clear  it  was  Giletti  who  tried  to 
murder  him.  I  had  not  mentioned  these  witnesses  to  you, 
because  I  wanted  to  give  you  a  surprise.  But  the  plan  has 
failed;  I  could  not  get  the  prince's  signature,  I  told  our 
Fabrizio  I  would  certainly  procure  him  some  high  ecclesi- 
astical position,  but  I  shall  find  that  very  difficult  if  his 
enemies  at  the  court  of  Rome  can  put  forward  an  accusa- 
tion of  murder  against  him.  Do  you  realize,  madam,  that 
if  he  is  not  tried  in  the  most  formal  manner,  the  name  of 
Giletti  will  be  a  bugbear  to  him  all  the  days  of  his  life  ?  It 
would  be  a  very  cowardly  thing  to  avoid  a  trial  when  one 
is  quite  sure  of  one's  innocence.  Besides,  if  he  were  guilty 
I  would  have  him  acquitted.  When  I  mentioned  the  subject, 
the  eager  young  fellow  would  not  let  me  finish  my  story; 
he  laid  hands  on  the  official  list,  and  together  we  chose  out 
the  twelve  most  upright  and  learned  of  the  judges.  When 
the  list  was  complete  we  struck  out  six  of  the  names,  and 
replaced  them  by  those  of  six  lawyers  who  are  my  personal 
enemies,  and  as  we  could  only  discover  two  of  these,  we 
made  up  the  number  with  four  rascals  who  are  devoted  to 
Rassi." 

The  count's  remarks  filled  the  duchess  with  deadly  and 
not  unreasonable  alarm.  At  last  she  submitted  to  reason, 
and  wrote  the  order  appointing  the  judges,  at  the  minister's 
dictation. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  before  the  count  left 
her.  She  tried  to  sleep,  but  all  in  vain.  At  nine  she  was 
breakfasting  with  Fabrizio,  whom  she  found  consumed  with 
longing  to  be  tried ;  at  ten  she  waited  on  the  princess,  who 
was  not  visible ;  at  eleven  she  saw  the  prince,  who  was  hold- 
ing his  lever,  and  who  signed  the  order  without  making  the 

462 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

slightest  objection.  The  duchess  sent  off  the  order  to  the 
count,  and  went  to  bed. 

I  might  give  an  entertaining  account  of  Rassi's  fury  when 
the  count  obliged  him,  in  the  prince's  presence,  to  counter- 
sign the  order  the  prince  himself  had  signed  earlier  in  the 
morning.    But  events  press  too  thickly  upon  us. 

The  count  discussed  the  merits  of  each  judge,  and  offered 
to  change  the  names.  But  my  readers  may  possibly  be 
growing  as  weary  of  my  details  of  legal  procedure  as  of  all 
these  court  intrigues.  From  all  of  them  we  may  draw  this 
moral — that  the  man  who  comes  to  close  quarters  with  a 
court  imperils  his  happiness,  if  he  is  happy,  and  in  any  case, 
risks  his  whole  future  on  the  intrigues  of  a  waiting-woman. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  a  republic,  such  as  America,  he 
must  bore  himself  from  morning  to  night  by  paying  solemn 
court  to  the  shopkeepers  in  the  street,  and  grow  as  dull  as 
they  are,  and  then,  over  there,  there  is  no  opera  for  him  to 
goto. 

When  the  duchess  left  her  bed  that  evening,  she  endured 
a  moment  of  extreme  anxiety.  Fabrizio  was  not  to  be  found. 
At  last,  toward  midnight,  during  the  performance  of  a  play 
at  the  palace,  she  received  a  letter  from  him.  Instead  of  giv- 
ing himself  up  at  the  city  jail,  which  was  under  the  count's 
jurisdiction,  he  had  gone  back  to  his  old  room  in  the  fortress, 
too  delighted  to  find  himself  once  more  in  Clelia's  neigh- 
bourhood. 

This  was  an  immensely  important  incident,  for  in  that 
place  he  was  more  than  ever  exposed  to  the  danger  of 
poison.  This  piece  of  folly  drove  the  duchess  to  despair,  but 
she  forgave  its  cause — her  nephew's  wild  love  for  Clelia — 
because  that  young  lady  was  certainly  to  be  married,  within 
a  few  days,  to  the  wealthy  Marchese  Crescenzi.  By  this  mad 
act  Fabrizio  recovered  all  his  former  influence  over  the 
duchess. 

"  That  cursed  paper  I  made  the  prince  sign  will  bring 
about  Fabrizio's  death !  What  idiots  men  are,  with  their  no- 
tions of  honour !  As  if  there  were  any  necessity  for  thinking 
about  honour  under  an  absolute  government  in  a  country 
where  a  man  like  Rassi  is  Minister  of  Justice !    We  ought 

463 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

simply  and  solely  to  have  accepted  the  pardon  which  the 
prince  would  have  given,  just  as  willingly  as  he  gave  the 
order  convoking  this  extraordinary  court.  What  matter  is 
it,  after  all,  whether  a  man  of  Fabrizio's  birth  is  accused, 
more  or  less,  of  having  killed  a  strolling  player  like  Giletti 
with  his  own  hand  and  his  own  sword  ?  " 

No  sooner  had  the  duchess  received  Fabrizio's  note,  than 
she  hurried  to  the  count.    She  found  him  looking  quite  pale. 

"  Good  God,  my  dear  friend  1 "  he  cried.  "  I  certainly 
bring  bad  luck  to  this  poor  boy,  and  you  will  be  frantic  with 
me  again.  I  can  give  you  proofs  that  I  sent  for  the  keeper 
of  the  city  jail  yesterday  evening.  Your  nephew  would  have 
come  to  drink  tea  with  you  every  day.  The  awful  thing  is 
that  it  is  impossible  for  either  you  or  me  to  tell  the  prince 
we  are  afraid  of  poison,  and  poison  administered  by  Rassi. 
He  would  regard  such  a  suspicion  as  immoral  to  the  last 
degree.  Nevertheless,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  I  am  ready  to 
go  to  the  palace.  But  I  know  what  answer  I  shall  receive. 
I  will  say  more ;  I  will  oflFer  you  a  means  which  I  would  not 
use  for  myself.  Since  I  have  held  power  in  this  country  I 
have  never  caused  a  single  man  to  perish,  and  you  know  I 
am  so  weak-minded  in  that  particular,  that  when  evening  falls 
I  sometimes  think  of  those  two  spies  I  had  shot,  a  trifle 
hastily,  in  Spain.  Well,  do  you  wish  me  to  rid  you  of  Rassi  ? 
There  is  no  limit  to  Fabrizio's  danger  at  his  hands.  Therein 
he  holds  a  certain  means  of  driving  me  to  take  my  depar- 
ture." 

The  suggestion  was  exceedingly  pleasing  to  the  duchess, 
but  she  did  not  adopt  it. 

"  I  do  not  choose,"  said  she  to  the  count,  "  that  in  our 
retirement  under  the  beautiful  Neapolitan  sky  your  evenings 
should  be  darkened  by  sad  thoughts." 

"  But,  dearest  friend,  it  seems  to  me  we  have  nothing 
but  sad  thoughts  to  choose  from.  What  will  become  of  you, 
what  is  to  become  of  me,  if  Fabrizio  is  carried  off  by  ill- 
ness ?  " 

There  was  a  fresh  discussion  over  this  idea.  The  duchess 
closed  it  with  these  words :  "  Rassi  owes  his  life  to  the  fact 
that  I  love  you  better  than  I  do  Fabrizio.    No ;  I  will  not 

464 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

poison  every  evening  of  the  old  age  we  are  going  to  spend 
together." 

The  duchess  hurried  to  the  fortress.  General  Fabio 
Conti  was  delighted  to  have  to  refuse  her  admittance,  in 
obedience  to  the  formal  provisions  of  military  law,  whereby 
no  one  can  enter  a  state  prison  without  an  order  signed  by 
the  prince. 

"  But  the  Marchese  Crescenzi  and  his  musicians  come 
into  the  citadel  every  day." 

"  That  is  because  I  have  obtained  a  special  order  for  them 
from  the  prince." 

The  poor  duchess  was  unaware  of  the  extent  of  her  mis- 
fortune. General  Fabio  Conti  had  taken  Fabrizio's  escape 
as  a  personal  slight  upon  himself.  He  had  no  business  to 
admit  him  when  he  saw  him  enter  the  citadel,  for  he  had  no 
orders  to  that  effect. 

"  But,"  thought  he,  "  Heaven  has  sent  him  to  me,  to  re- 
pair my  honour,  and  save  me  from  the  ridicule  which  would 
have  blighted  my  military  career.  I  must  not  lose  my 
chance.  He  will  be  acquitted — there  is  no  doubt  of  that — 
and  I  have  only  a  few  days  in  which  to  wreak  my  venge- 
ance." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

Our  hero's  arrival  threw  Clelia  into  a  condition  of  de- 
spair. The  poor  girl,  earnestly  pious  and  thoroughly  honest 
with  herself,  could  not  blink  the  fact  that  she  could  never 
know  happiness  apart  from  Fabrizio.  But  when  her  father 
had  been  half  poisoned,  she  had  made  a  vow  to  the  Madonna 
that  she  would  sacrifice  herself  to  him  by  marrying  the  mar- 
chese.  She  had  also  vowed  she  would  never  see  Fabrizio 
again,  and  she  was  already  torn  by  the  most  cruel  remorse, 
on  account  of  the  admission  into  which  she  had  slipped  in 
her  letter  to  Fabrizio  the  night  before  his  flight.  How  shall 
I  describe  the  feelings  that  swelled  that  shadowed  heart 
when,  as  she  sadly  watched  her  birds  fluttering  hither  and 
thither,  she  raised  her  eyes,  instinctively,  and  lovingly,  to  the 
window  whence  Fabrizio  had  once  gazed  at  her,  and  saw 
him  stand  there  once  again,  and  greet  her  with  the  tenderest 
respect. 

At  first  she  thought  it  was  a  vision,  which  Heaven  had 
sent  her  as  a  punishment.  At  last  the  hideous  truth  forced 
itself  on  her  mind.  "  They  have  taken  him,"  she  thought, 
"  and  now  he  is  lost !  "  She  remembered  the  language  used 
within  the  fortress  after  his  escape — t'e  very  humblest  jailer 
had  felt  himself  mortally  humiliated  by  it.  Cleli;.  looked  at 
Fabrizio,  and  in  spite  of  herself,  her  eyes  spoke  all  the  pas- 
sion that  was  driving  her  to  despair.  "  Can  you  believe," 
she  seemed  to  say  to  Fabrizio,  "  that  I  shall  find  happiness 
in  the  sumptuous  palace  that  is  being  prepared  for  me  ?  My 
father  tells  me,  till  I  am  sick  of  hearing  it,  that  you  are 
as  poor  as  we  are.  Heavens !  how  gladly  would  I  share  that 
poverty !    But,  alas,  we  must  never  see  each  other  again !  " 

Clelia  had  not  the  strength  to  make  any  use  of  the  alpha- 

466 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

bets.  Even  as  she  gazed  at  Fabrizio,  she  turned  faint,  and 
dropped  upon  a  chair  beside  the  window.  Her  head  rested 
upon  the  window  ledge,  and  as  she  had  striven  to  look  at 
him  till  the  last  moment  her  face,  turned  toward  Fabrizio, 
was  fully  exposed  to  his  gaze.  When,  after  a  few  moments, 
she  opened  her  eyes,  her  first  glance  sought  Fabrizio.  Tears 
stood  in  his  eyes,  but  they  were  tears  of  utter  happiness. 
He  saw  that  absence  had  not  made  her  forget  him.  For 
some  time  the  two  poor  young  creatures  remained  as  though 
bewitched  by  the  sight  of  each  other.  Fabrizio  ventured  to 
say  a  few  words,  as  though  singing  to  a  guitar,  something 
to  this  effect :  "  It  is  to  see  you  again  that  I  have  come  back 
to  prison ;  I  am  to  be  tried." 

These  words  seemed  to  stir  all  Clelia's  sense  of  virtue. 
She  rose  swiftly  to  her  feet,  covered  her  eyes,  and  endeav- 
oured to  make  him  understand,  by  the  most  earnest  ges- 
tures, that  she  must  never  see  him  again.  This  had  been  her 
promise  to  the  Madonna,  which  she  had  forgotten  when  she 
had  looked  at  him.  When  Fabrizio  still  ventured  to  give 
expression  to  his  love,  Clelia  fled  indignantly,  swearing  to 
herself  that  she  would  never  see  him  again.  For  these  were 
the  exact  terms  of  her  vow  to  the  Madonna :  "  My  eyes  shall 
ner>er  look  on  him  again"  She  had  written  them  on  a  slip  of 
paper  which  her  uncle  Cesare  had  allowed  her  to  burn  on 
the  altar,  at  the  moment  of  the  elevation,  while  he  was 
saying  mass. 

But  in  spite  of  every  vow,  Fabrizio's  presence  in  the 
Farnese  Tower  drove  Clelia  back  into  all  her  former  habits. 
She  now  generally  spent  her  whole  day  alone  in  her  room, 
but  hardly  had  she  recovered  from  the  state  of  agitation  into 
which  Fabrizio's  appearance  had  thrown  her,  than  she  began 
to  move  about  the  palace,  and  renew  acquaintance,  so  to 
speak,  with  all  her  humbler  friends.  A  very  talkative  old 
woman,  who  worked  in  the  kitchens,  said  to  her,  with  a  look 
of  mystery,  "  SigTior  Fabrizio  will  not  get  out  of  the  citadel 
this  time." 

"  He  will  not  commit  the  crime  of  getting  over  the 
walls,"  said  Clelia,  "  but  he  will  go  out  by  the  gate  if  he  is 
acquitted." 

467 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  I  tell  your  Excellency,  and  I  know  what  I  am  say- 
ing, that  he  will  never  go  out  till  he  is  carried  out  feet  fore- 
most." 

Clelia  turned  deadly  pale;  the  old  woman  remarked  it, 
and  her  eloquence  was  checked.  She  felt  she  had  committed 
an  imprudence  in  speaking  thus  before  the  daughter  of  the 
governor,  whose  duty  it  would  be  to  tell  every  one  Fabrizio 
had  died  of  illness.  As  Clelia  was  going  back  to  her  rooms 
she  met  the  prison  doctor,  an  honest,  timid  kind  of  man,  who 
told  her,  with  a  look  of  alarm,  that  Fabrizio  was  very  ill. 
Clelia  could  hardly  drag  herself  along ;  she  hunted  high  and 
low  for  her  uncle,  the  good  priest  Cesare,  and  found  him  at 
last  in  the  chapel,  praying  fervently ;  his  face  betrayed  the 
greatest  distress.  The  dinner  bell  rang.  Not  a  word  was  ex- 
changed between  the  two  brothers  at  table,  but  toward  the 
end  of  the  meal  the  general  addressed  some  very  tart  remark 
to  his  brother.  This  latter  looked  at  the  servants,  who  left 
the  room. 

"  General,"  said  Don  Cesare  to  the  governor,  "  I  have 
the  honour  to  inform  you  that  I  am  about  to  leave  the  cita- 
del.   I  give  you  my  resignation," 

"  Bravo !  Bravissimo !  ...  to  cast  suspicion  on  me ! 
And  your  reason,  may  I  inquire  ?  " 

"  My  conscience." 

"  Pooh !  you're  nothing  but  a  shaveling  priest.  You 
know  nothing  about  honour." 

"  Fabrizio  is  killed !  "  said  Clelia  to  herself.  "  They've 
poisoned  him  at  his  dinner,  or  else  they'll  do  it  to-morrow." 
She  flew  to  her  aviary,  determined  to  sing  and  accompany 
herself  on  the  piano.  "  I  will  confess  it  all,"  said  she  to 
herself.  "  I  shall  be  given  absolution  for  breaking  my  vow 
to  save  a  man's  life."  What  was  her  consternation,  on 
reaching  the  aviary,  to  perceive  that  the  screens  had  been 
replaced  by  boards,  fastened  to  the  iron  bars.  Half  dis- 
tracted, she  endeavoured  to  warn  the  prisoner  by  a  few 
words,  which  she  screamed  rather  than  sang.  There  was 
no  answer  of  any  sort.  A  deathlike  silence  already  reigned 
within  the  Farnese  Tower.  "  It's  all  over,"  she  thought. 
Distraught,  she  ran  down  the  stairs,  then  ran  back  again,  to 

468 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

fetch  what  money  she  had,  and  her  Httle  diamond  earrings. 
As  she  went  by  she  snatched  up  the  bread  remaining  from 
dinner,  which  had  been  put  on  a  sideboard.  "  If  he  is  still 
alive,  it  is  my  duty  to  save  him."  With  a  haughty  air  she 
moved  toward  the  little  door  in  the  tower.  The  door  was 
open,  and  eight  soldiers  had  only  just  been  stationed  in  the 
pillared  hall  on  the  ground  floor.  She  looked  boldly  at  the 
soldiers.  Clelia  had  intended  to  speak  to  the  sergeant  who 
should  have  been  in  charge,  but  the  man  was  not  there. 
Clelia  hurried  up  the  little  iron  staircase  which  wound  round 
one  of  the  pillars;  the  soldiers  stared  at  her,  very  much 
astonished,  but  presumably  on  account  of  her  lace  shawl,  and 
her  bonnet,  they  dared  not  say  anything  to  her.  There  was 
nobody  at  all  on  the  first  floor,  but  on  the  second,  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  passage,  which,  as  my  readers  may  recollect, 
was  closed  by  three  iron-barred  doors,  and  led  to  Fabrizio's 
room,  she  found  a  turnkey,  a  stranger  to  her,  who  said,  with 
a  startled  look : 

"  He  hasn't  dined  yet." 

"  I  know  that  quite  well,"  said  Qelia  loftily.  The  man 
did  not  venture  to  stop  her.  Twenty  paces  farther  on,  Clelia 
found,  sitting  on  the  first  of  the  six  wooden  steps  leading 
up  to  Fabrizio's  room,  another  turnkey,  very  elderly,  and 
exceedingly  red  in  the  face,  who  said  to  her  firmly,  "  Si- 
gnorina,  have  you  an  order  from  the  governor  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

At  that  moment  Clelia  was  possessed  by  a  sort  of  super- 
natural strength.  She  was  quite  beside  herself.  "  I  am 
going  to  save  my  husband,"  she  said  to  herself. 

While  the  old  turnkey  was  calling  out,  "  But  my  duty 
will  not  permit  me,"  Clelia  ran  swiftly  up  the  six  steps.  She 
threw  herself  against  the  door.  A  huge  key  was  in  the  lock ; 
it  took  all  her  strength  to  turn  it.  At  that  moment  the  old 
turnkey,  who  was  half  drunk,  snatched  at  the  bottom  of  her 
skirt.  She  dashed  into  the  room,  slammed  the  door,  tearing 
her  gown,  and,  as  the  turnkey  pushed  at  it,  to  get  in  after 
her,  she  shot  a  bolt  which  she  found  just  under  her  hand. 
She  looked  into  the  room  and  saw  Fabrizio  sitting  at  a  very 
small  table,  on  which  his  dinner  was  laid.    She  rushed  at  the 

469 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

table,  overturned  it,  and,  clutching  Fabrizio's  arm,  she  cried, 
"Hast  thou  eaten?" 

This  use  of  the  second  person  singular  filled  Fabrizio 
with  joy.  For  the  first  time  in  her  agitation,  Clelia  had  for- 
gotten her  womanly  reserve  and  betrayed  her  love. 

Fabrizio  had  been  on  the  point  of  beginning  his  fatal 
meal.  He  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  covered  her  with 
kisses.  "  This  food  has  been  poisoned,"  thought  he  to  him- 
self. "  If  I  tell  her  I  have  not  touched  it,  religion  will  re- 
assert its  rights,  and  Clelia  will  take  to  flight.  But  if  she 
looks  upon  me  as  a  dying  man  I  shall  persuade  her  not  to 
leave  me.  She  is  longing  to  find  a  means  of  escape  from  her 
hateful  marriage;  chance  has  brought  us  this  one.  The 
jailers  will  soon  collect;  they  will  break  in  the  door,  and 
then  there  will  be  such  a  scandal  that  the  Marchese  Crescenzi 
will  take  fright,  and  break  off  his  marriage." 

During  the  momentary  silence  consequent  on  these  re- 
flections, Fabrizio  felt  that  Clelia  was  already  endeavouring 
to  free  herself  from  his  embrace. 

"  I  feel  no  pain  as  yet,"  he  said  to  her,  "  but  soon  I  shall 
lie  at  thy  feet  in  agony.     Help  me  to  die !  " 

"  Oh,  my  only  friend,"  she  answered,  "  I  will  die  with 
thee !  "  and  she  clasped  her  arms  about  him  with  a  convulsive 
pressure. 

Half  dressed  as  she  was,  and  half  wild  with  passion,  she 
was  so  beautiful  that  Fabrizio  could  not  restrain  an  almost 
involuntary  gesture.    He  met  with  no  resistance. 

In  the  gush  of  passion  and  generous  feeling  which  fol- 
lows on  excessive  happiness,  he  said  to  her  boldly :  "  The 
first  instants  of  our  happiness  shall  not  be  soiled  by  a  vile  lie. 
But  for  thy  courage  I  should  now  be  nothing  but  a  corpse, 
or  struggling  in  the  most  hideous  tortures.  But  at  thy  en- 
trance I  was  only  about  to  dine ;  I  had  not  touched  any  of 
the  dishes." 

Fabrizio  dilated  on  the  frightful  picture,  so  as  to  soften 
the  indignation  he  already  perceived  in  Clelia's  eyes.  Torn 
by  violent  and  conflicting  feelings,  she  looked  at  him  for 
an  instant,  and  then  threw  herself  into  his  arms.  A  great 
noise  arose  in  the  passage,  the  iron  doors  were  roughly 

470 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

opened  and  violently  banged,  and  there  was  talking  and 
shouting. 

"  Oh,  if  only  I  was  armed !  "  exclaimed  Fabrizio.  "  They 
took  my  arms  away  before  they  would  let  me  come  in. 
No  doubt  they  are  coming  to  make  an  end  of  me.  Farewell, 
my  Clelia!  I  bless  my  death,  since  it  has  brought  me  my 
happiness !  "  Clelia  kissed  him,  and  gave  him  a  little  ivory- 
handled  dagger,  with  a  blade  not  much  longer  than  that  of  a 
penknife. 

"  Do  not  let  them  kill  thee,"  she  said.  "  Defend  thyself  to 
the  last  moment.  If  my  uncle  hears  the  noise — he  is  brave 
and  virtuous — he  will  save  thee.  I  am  going  to  speak  to 
them !  "  and  as  she  said  the  words,  she  rushed  toward  the 
door. 

"  If  thou  art  not  killed,"  she  said  feverishly,  with  her 
hand  on  the  bolt  and  her  head  turned  toward  him,  "  starve 
rather  than  touch  any  food  that  is  brought  thee.  Keep  this 
bread  about  thy  person  always."  The  noise  was  drawing 
nearer.  Fabrizio  caught  hold  of  her,  took  her  place  by  the 
door,  and  throwing  it  open  violently,  rushed  down  the  six 
wooden  steps.  The  ivory-handled  dagger  was  in  his  hand, 
and  he  was  just  about  to  drive  it  into  the  waistcoat  of  Gen- 
eral Fontana,  the  prince's  aide-de-camp,  who  started  back  in 
alarm,  and  exclaimed,  "  But  I  have  come  to  save  you,  Signor 
del  Dongo !  " 

Fabrizio  turned  back,  up  the  six  steps,  said,  within  the 
room,  "  Fontana  has  come  to  save  me,"  then,  returning  to 
the  general,  on  the  wooden  steps,  he  conversed  calmly  with 
him,  begging  him,  in  many  words,  to  forgive  him  his  ang^ 
impulse.  "  There  has  been  an  attempt  to  poison  me ;  that 
dinner  you  see  laid  out  there  is  poisoned.  I  had  the  sense 
not  to  touch  it,  but  I  will  confess  to  you  that  the  incident 
annoyed  me.  When  I  heard  you  coming  up  the  stairs,  I 
thought  they  were  coming  to  finish  me  with  daggers.  .  .  . 
General,  I  request  you  will  g^ve  orders  that  nobody  shall 
enter  my  room.  Somebody  would  take  away  the  poison, 
and  our  good  prince  must  be  informed  of  everything." 

The  general,  very  pale,  and  very  much  horrified,  trans- 
mitted the  order  suggested  by  Fabrizio  to  the  specially 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

selected  jailers,  who  had  followed  him.  These  gentry,  very- 
much  crestfallen  at  seeing  the  poison  discovered,  lost  no  time 
in  getting  downstairs.  They  made  as  though  they  were 
going  in  front,  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  prince's  aide-de- 
camp on  the  narrow  staircase ;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were 
panting  to  escape  and  disappear.  To  General  Fontana's 
great  astonishment,  Fabrizio  halted  for  more  than  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  at  the  little  iron  staircase  that  ran  round  the  pillar 
on  the  ground  floor.  He  wanted  to  give  Clelia  time  to  con- 
ceal herself  on  the  first  floor. 

It  was  the  duchess  who,  after  doing  several  wild  things, 
had  succeeded  in  getting  General  Fontana  sent  to  the  citadel. 
This  success  had  been  the  result  of  chance.  Leaving  Count 
Mosca,  who  was  as  much  alarmed  as  herself,  she  hurried  to 
the  palace.  The  princess,  who  had  a  strong  dislike  to  en- 
ergy, which  always  struck  her  as  being  vulgar,  thought  she 
was  mad,  and  did  not  show  the  least  disposition  to  attempt 
any  unusual  step  to  help  her.  The  duchess,  distracted,  was 
weeping  bitterly.  All  she  could  do  was  to  repeat,  over  and 
over  again,  "  But,  madam,  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Fa- 
brizio will  be  dead  of  poison !  " 

When  the  duchess  perceived  the  princess's  perfect  indif- 
ference, her  grief  drove  her  mad.  That  moral  reflection, 
which  would  certainly  have  occurred  to  any  woman  educated 
in  one  of  those  northern  religions  which  permit  of  self- 
examination — "  I  was  the  first  to  use  poison,  and  now  it  is 
by  poison  that  I  am  destroyed  " — never  occurred  to  her. 
In  Italy  such  considerations,  in  moments  of  deep  passion, 
would  seem  as  commonplace  as  a  pun  would  appear  to  a 
Parisian,  under  parallel  circumstances. 

In  her  despair,  the  duchess  chanced  to  go  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  she  found  the  Marchese  Crescenzi,  who 
was  in  waiting  that  day.  When  the  duchess  had  returned  to 
Parma  he  had  thanked  her  fervently  for  his  post  as  lord  in 
waiting,  to  which,  but  for  her,  he  could  never  have  aspired. 
There  had  been  no  lack  of  asseverations  of  devotion  on  his 
part.    The  duchess  addressed  him  in  the  following  words : 

"  Rassi  is  going  to  have  Fabrizio,  who  is  in  the  citadel, 
poisoned.    Put  some  chocolate  and  a  bottle  of  water,  which 

472 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

I  will  give  you,  into  your  pocket.  Go  up  to  the  citadel,  and 
save  my  life  by  telling  General  Fabio  Conti  that  if  he  does 
not  allow  you  to  give  Fabrizio  the  chocolate  and  the  water 
yourself,  you  will  break  off  your  marriage  with  his  daughter." 

The  marchese  turned  pale,  and  his  features,  instead  of 
kindling  into  animation,  expressed  the  most  miserable  per- 
plexity. He  "  could  not  believe  that  so  hideous  a  crime 
could  be  committed  in  so  well-ordered  a  city  as  Parma,  ruled 
over  by  so  great  a  prince,"  and  so  forth.  And  to  make  it 
worse,  he  enunciated  all  these  platitudes  exceedingly  slowly. 
In  a  word,  the  duchess  found  she  had  to  deal  with  a  man 
who  was  upright  enough,  but  weak  beyond  words,  and  quite 
unable  to  make  up  his  mind  to  act.  After  a  score  of  remarks 
of  this  kind,  all  of  them  interrupted  by  her  impatient  ex- 
clamations, he  hit  on  an  excellent  excuse.  His  oath  as  lord 
in  waiting  forbade  him  to  take  part  in  any  machinations 
against  the  government. 

My  readers  will  imagine  the  anxiety  and  despair  of  the 
duchess,  who  felt  the  time  was  slipping  by. 

"  But  see  the  governor,  at  all  events,  and  tell  him  I  will 
hunt  Fabrizio's  murderers  into  hell !  " 

Despair  had  quickened  the  duchess's  eloquence.  But 
all  her  fervour  only  added  to  the  marchese's  alarm,  and 
doubled  his  natural  irresolution.  At  the  end  of  an  hour 
he  was  even  less  inclined  to  do  anything  than  he  had  been 
at  first. 

The  unhappy  woman,  who  had  reached  the  utmost  limit 
of  distraction,  and  was  thoroughly  convinced  the  governor 
would  never  refuse  anything  to  so  rich  a  son-in-law,  went 
so  far  as  to  throw  herself  at  his  feet.  This  seemed  only 
to  increase  the  Marchese  Crescenzi's  cowardice — the  strange 
sight  filled  him  with  an  unconscious  fear  that  he  himself 
might  be  compromised.  But  then  a  strange  thing  happened. 
The  marchese,  a  kind-hearted  man  at  bottom,  was  touched 
when  he  saw  so  beautiful  and,  above  all,  so  powerful  a 
woman,  kneeling  at  his  feet. 

"  I  myself,  rich  and  noble  as  I  am,"  thought  he,  "  may 
one  day  be  forced  to  kneel  at  the  feet  of  some  republican." 

The  marchese  began  to  cry,  and  at  last  it  was  agreed  that 

473 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

the  duchess,  as  mistress  of  the  robes,  should  introduce  him 
to  the  princess,  who  would  give  him  leave  to  convey  a  small 
basket,  of  the  contents  of  which  he  would  declare  himself 
ignorant,  to  Fabrizio. 

The  previous  night,  before  the  duchess  had  become 
aware  of  Fabrizio's  folly  in  giving  himself  up  to  the  citadel,  a 
commedia  deU'arte  had  been  acted  at  court,  and  the  prince, 
who  always  kept  the  lovers'  parts  for  himself,  and  played 
them  with  the  duchess,  had  spoken  to  her  so  passionately  of 
his  love  that  had  such  a  thing  been  possible,  in  Italy,  to  any 
passionate  man,  or  any  prince,  he  would  have  looked  ridicu- 
lous. 

The  prince,  who,  shy  as  he  was,  took  his  love-aflfairs  very 
seriously,  was  walking  along  one  of  the  corridors  of  the 
palace,  when  he  met  the  duchess,  hurrying  the  Marchese 
Crescenzi,  who  looked  very  much  flustered,  into  the 
princess's  presence.  He  was  so  surprised  and  dazzled  by  the 
beauty  and  the  emotion  with  which  despair  had  endued  the 
mistress  of  the  robes,  that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
showed  some  decision  of  character.  With  a  gesture  that  was 
more  than  imperious,  he  dismissed  the  marchese,  and  forth- 
with made  a  formal  declaration  of  his  love  to  the  duchess. 
No  doubt  the  prince  had  thought  it  all  over  beforehand,  for 
it  contained  some  very  sensible  remarks. 

"  Since  my  rank  forbids  me  the  supreme  happiness  of 
marrying  you,  I  will  swear  to  you  on  the  Holy  Wafer  that 
I  will  never  marry  without  your  written  consent.  I  know 
very  well,"  he  added,  "  that  I  shall  cause  you  to  lose  the  hand 
of  the  Prime  Minister — a  clever  and  very  charming  man — 
but,  after  all,  he  is  fifty-six  years  old,  and  I  am  not  yet 
twenty-two.  I  should  feel  I  was  insulting  you,  and  should 
deserve  your  refusal,  if  I  spoke  to  you  of  advantages  apart 
from  my  love.  But  every  soul  about  my  court  who  cares 
about  money  speaks  with  admiration  of  the  proof  of  love  the 
count  gives  you,  by  leaving  everything  he  possesses  in  your 
hands.  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  imitate  him  in  this  re- 
spect. You  will  use  my  fortune  much  better  than  I,  and  you 
will  have  the  entire  disposal  of  the  annual  sum  which  my 
ministers  pay  over  to  the  lord  steward  of  the  crown.    Thus 

474 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

it  will  be  you,  duchess,  who  will  decide  what  sums  I  may 
expend  each  month." 

The  duchess  thought  all  these  details  very  long-winded. 
The  sense  of  Fabrizio's  peril  was  tearing  at  her  heart. 

"  But  don't  you  know,  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  Fabrizio 
is  at  this  moment  being  poisoned  in  your  citadel.  Save  him ! 
I  believe  everything ! "  The  arrangement  of  her  sentence 
was  thoroughly  awkward.  At  the  word  poison  all  the  con- 
fidence, all  the  good  faith  which  had  been  evident  in  the 
poor,  well-meaning  prince's  conversation,  disappeared  like 
a  flash.  The  duchess  only  noticed  her  blunder  when  it  was 
too  late  to  remedy  it,  and  this  increased  her  despair — a  thing 
she  had  thought  impossible.  "  If  I  had  not  mentioned 
poison,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  he  would  have  granted  me  Fa- 
brizio's liberty.  Oh,  dear  Fabrizio,"  she  added,  "  I  am 
fated  to  ruin  you  by  my  folly !  " 

It  took  the  duchess  a  long  time,  and  she  was  forced  to 
employ  many  wiles,  before  she  could  win  the  prince  back  to 
his  passionate  declarations  of  aflfection.  But  he  was  still 
thoroughly  scared.  It  was  only  his  mind  that  spoke;  his 
heart  had  been  frozen — first  of  all  by  the  idea  of  poison,  and 
then  by  another,  as  displeasing  to  him  as  the  first  had  been 
terrible,  "  Poison  is  being  administered  in  my  dominions 
without  my  being  told  anything  about  it.  Rassi,  then,  is 
bent  on  dishonouring  me  in  the  eyes  of  Europe.  God  alone 
knows  what  I  shall  read  in  the  French  newspapers  next 
month." 

Suddenly,  timid  as  the  young  man  was,  his  heart  was 
silent,  and  an  idea  started  up  in  his  mind. 

"  Dear  duchess,"  he  cried,  "  you  know  how  deeply  I  am 
attached  to  you.  I  would  fain  believe  your  terrible  notion 
about  poison  is  quite  unfounded.  But,  indeed,  it  set  me 
thinking,  too,  and  for  a  moment  it  almost  made  me  forget 
my  passionate  love  for  you,  the  only  one  I  have  ever  felt 
in  my  life.  I  feel  I  am  not  very  lovable ;  I  am  nothing  but 
a  boy,  very  desperately  in  love.  But  put  me  to  the  test,  at 
all  events !  " 

As  the  prince  spoke  he  grew  very  eager. 

"  Save  Fabrizio,  and  I  will  believe  everything !    No  doubt 

475 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

I  am  carried  away  by  a  foolish  mother's  fears.  But  send 
instantly  to  fetch  Fabrizio  from  the  citadel,  and  let  me  see 
him.  If  he  is  still  alive,  send  him  from  the  palace  to  the  city 
jail,  and  keep  him  there  for  months  and  months,  until  he 
has  been  tried,  if  that  be  your  Highness's  will !  " 

The  duchess  noticed  with  despair  that  the  prince,  instead 
of  granting  so  simple  a  petition  with  a  word,  had  grown 
gloomy.  He  was  very  much  flushed;  he  looked  at  the 
duchess,  then  dropped  his  eyes,  and  his  cheeks  grew  pale. 
The  idea  of  poison  she  had  so  unluckily  put  forward  had 
inspired  him  with  a  thought  worthy  of  his  own  father,  or 
of  Philip  II.    But  he  did  not  dare  to  express  it. 

"  Listen,  madam,"  he  said  at  last,  as  though  with  an 
effort,  and  in  a  tone  that  was  not  particularly  gracious. 
"  You  look  down  upon  me  as  a  boy,  and  further,  as  a  crea- 
ture possessing  no  attraction.  Well,  I  am  going  to  say 
something  horrible  to  you,  which  has  been  suggested  to  me, 
this  instant,  by  the  real  and  deep  passion  I  feel  for  you.  If 
I  had  the  smallest  belief  in  the  world  in  this  poison  story,  I 
should  have  taken  steps  at  once ;  my  duty  would  have  made 
that  a  law.  But  I  take  your  request  to  be  nothing  but  a  wild 
fancy,  the  meaning  of  which,  you  will  allow  me  to  say,  I 
may  not  fully  grasp.  You  expect  me,  who  have  hardly 
reigned  three  months,  to  act  without  consulting  my  minis- 
ters. You  ask  me  to  make  an  exception  to  a  general  rule, 
which,  I  confess,  seems  to  me  a  very  reasonable  one.  At 
this  moment  it  is  you,  madam,  who  are  absolute  sovereign 
here;  you  inspire  me  with  hope  in  a  matter  which  is  all  in 
all  to  me.  But  within  an  hour,  when  this  nightmare  of  yours, 
this  fancy  about  poison,  has  faded  away,  my  presence  will 
become  a  weariness  to  you,  and  you  will  drive  me  away, 
madam.  Therefore  I  want  an  oath.  Swear  to  me,  madam, 
that  if  Fabrizio  is  restored  to  you,  safe  and  sound,  you  will 
grant  me,  within  three  months,  all  the  happiness  that  my 
love  can  crave ;  that  you  will  ensure  the  bliss  of  my  whole 
life  by  placing  one  hour  of  yours  at  my  disposal,  and  that 
you  will  be  mine !  " 

At  that  moment  the  castle  clock  struck  two.  "  Ah,  per- 
haps it  is  too  late  now !  "  thought  the  duchess. 

476 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  I  swear  it,"  she  cried,  and  her  eyes  were  wild. 

Instantly  the  prince  became  a  different  man.  Running 
to  the  aide-de-camp's  room  at  the  end  of  the  gallery — 

"  General  Fontana,"  he  cried,  "  gallop  at  full  speed  to 
the  citadel ;  hurry  as  fast  as  you  can  to  the  room  where 
Signor  del  Dongo  is  confined,  and  bring  him  to  me.  I  must 
speak  to  him  within  twenty  minutes — within  fifteen,  if  that 
be  possible." 

"  Ah,  general !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  who  had  followed 
on  the  prince's  heels,  "  My  whole  life  may  depend  on  one 
moment.  A  report — a  false  one,  no  doubt — has  made  me  fear 
Fabrizio  may  be  poisoned.  The  moment  you  are  within 
earshot,  call  out  to  him  not  to  eat.  If  he  has  touched  food, 
you  must  make  him  sick ;  say  I  insist  upon  it — use  violence 
if  necessary.  Tell  him  I  am  following  close  after  you,  and 
believe  I  shall  be  indebted  to  you  all  my  life !  " 

"  My  lady  duchess,  my  horse  is  saddled ;  I  am  thought 
a  good  rider ;  I  will  gallop  as  hard  as  I  can  go,  and  I  shall 
be  at  the  citadel  eight  minutes  before  you." 

The  aide-de-camp  vanished.  He  was  a  man  whose  one 
merit  was  that  he  knew  how  to  ride. 

Before  he  had  well  closed  the  door  the  young  prince, 
who  apparently  knew  his  own  mind  now,  seized  the  duch- 
ess's hand.  "  Madam,"  he  said,  and  there  was  passion  in 
his  tone,  "  deign  to  come  with  me  to  the  chapel."  Taken 
aback  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  the  duchess  followed 
him  without  a  word.  She  and  the  prince  ran  down  the 
whole  length  of  the  great  gallery  of  the  palace,  at  the  far 
end  of  which  the  chapel  was  situated.  When  they  were 
inside  the  chapel  the  prince  cast  himself  on  his  knees,  as 
much  before  the  duchess  as  before  the  altar. 

"  Repeat  your  oath !  "  he  exclaimed  passionately.  "  If 
you  had  been  just,  if  the  misfortune  of  my  being  a  prince  had 
not  injured  my  cause,  you  would  have  granted  me,  out  of 
pity  for  my  love,  that  which  you  owe  me  now,  because  you 
have  sworn  it." 

"  If  I  see  Fabrizio  again,  and  he  has  not  been  poisoned — 
if  he  is  alive  within  a  week  from  now — if  your  Highness  ap- 
points him  coadjutor  to  Archbishop  Landriani,  and  his  ulti- 

477 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

mate  successor — I  will  trample  everything,  my  honour,  my 
womanly  dignity,  beneath  my  feet,  and  I  will  give  myself  to 
your  Highness," 

*'  But,  dearest  friend,"  said  the  prince,  with  a  comical 
mixture  of  nervous  anxiety  and  tenderness,  "  I  am  afraid  of 
some  pitfall  I  do  not  understand,  and  which  may  destroy 
all  my  happiness;  that  would  kill  me.  If  the  archbishop 
makes  some  ecclesiastical  difficulty  which  will  drag  the  busi- 
ness out  for  years,  what  is  to  become  of  me?  I  am  acting, 
you  see,  in  perfect  good  faith;  are  you  going  to  treat  me 
like  a  Jesuit?" 

"  No,  in  all  good  faith.  If  Fabrizio  is  saved,  and  if  you 
do  all  in  your  power  to  make  him  coadjutor  and  future  arch- 
bishop, I  will  dishonour  myself,  and  give  myself  to  you. 
Your  Highness  will  undertake  to  write  '  approved '  on  the 
margin  of  a  request  which  the  archbishop  will  present  within 
the  week  ?  " 

"  I  will  sign  you  a  blank  sheet  of  paper !  You  shall  rule 
me  and  my  dominions ! "  Reddening  with  happiness,  and 
thoroughly  beside  himself,  he  insisted  on  a  second  oath.  So 
great  was  his  emotion  that  it  made  him  forget  his  natural 
timidity,  and  in  that  palace  chapel  where  they  were  alone 
together,  he  whispered  things  which,  if  he  had  said  them 
three  days  previously,  would  have  altered  the  duchess's  opin- 
ion of  him.  But  in  her  heart,  despair  concerning  Fabrizio's 
danger  had  now  been  replaced  by  horror  at  the  promise 
which  had  been  torn  from  her. 

The  duchess  was  overwhelmed  by  the  thought  of  what 
she  had  done.  If  she  was  not  yet  conscious  of  the  frightful 
bitterness  of  what  she  had  said,  it  was  because  her  attention 
was  still  strained  by  anxiety  as  to  whether  General  Fontana 
would  reach  the  citadel  in  time. 

To  stem  the  boy's  wild  love  talk,  and  turn  the  conversa- 
tion, she  praised  a  famous  picture  by  Parmegiano,  which 
adorned  the  high  altar  in  the  chapel. 

"  Do  me  the  kindness  of  allowing  me  to  send  it  to  you," 
said  the  prince. 

"  I  accept  it,"  replied  the  duchess.  "  But  give  me  leave 
to  hurry  to  meet  Fabrizio." 

478 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

With  a  bewildered  look  she  told  her  coachman  to  make 
his  horses  into  a  gallop.  On  the  bridge  that  spanned  the 
fortress  moat  she  met  General  Fontana  and  Fabrizio  coming 
out  on  foot. 

"  Have  you  eaten  ?  " 

"  No,  by  some  miracle." 

The  duchess  threw  herself  on  Fabrizio's  breast,  and  fell 
into  a  swoon,  which  lasted  for  an  hour,  and  engendered  fears, 
first  for  her  life,  and  afterward  for  her  reason. 

At  the  sight  of  General  Fontana,  General  Fabio  Conti 
had  grown  white  with  rage.  He  dallied  so  much  about  obey- 
ing the  prince's  order,  that  the  aide-de-camp,  who  concluded 
the  duchess  was  about  to  occupy  the  position  of  reigfning 
mistress,  had  ended  by  losing  his  temper.  The  governor 
had  intended  to  make  Fabrizio's  illness  last  two  or  three 
days,  and  "  now,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  this  general,  a  man 
about  the  court,  will  find  the  impudent  fellow  struggling  in 
the  agonies  which  are  to  avenge  me  for  his  flight." 

Greatly  worried,  Fabio  Conti  stopped  in  the  guard-room 
of  the  Farnese  Tower,  and  hastily  dismissed  the  soldiers  in 
it.  He  did  not  care  to  have  any  witnesses  of  the  approach- 
ing scene. 

Five  minutes  afterwards,  he  was  petrified  with  astonish- 
ment by  hearing  Fabrizio's  voice,  and  seeing  him  well  and 
hearty,  describing  the  prison  to  General  Fontana.  He 
swiftly  disappeared. 

At  his  interview  with  the  prince,  Fabrizio  behaved  like 
a  perfect  gentleman.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  no  intention 
of  looking  like  a  child  who  is  frightened  by  a  mere  nothing. 
The  prince  inquired  kindly  how  he  felt. 

"  Like  a  man,  your  Serene  Highness,  who  is  starving 
with  hunger,  because,  by  good  luck,  he  has  neither  break- 
fasted nor  dined." 

After  having  had  the  honour  of  thanking  the  prince,  he 
requested  permission  to  see  the  archbishop,  before  proceed- 
ing to  the  city  jail. 

The  prince  had  turned  exceedingly  pale  when  the  con- 
viction that  the  poison  had  not  been  altogether  a  phantom 
of  the  duchess's  imagination  had  forced  itself  upon  his  child- 

479 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ish  brain.  Absorbed  by  the  cruel  thought,  he  did  not  at 
first  reply  to  Fabrizio's  request  that  he  might  see  the  arch- 
bishop. Then  he  felt  obliged  to  atone  for  his  inattention 
by  excessive  graciousness. 

"  You  can  go  out  alone,  sir,  and  move  through  the  streets 
of  my  capital  without  any  guard.  Toward  ten  or  eleven 
o'clock  you  will  repair  to  the  prison,  and  I  trust  you  will 
not  have  to  stay  there  long." 

On  the  morrow  of  that  great  day,  the  most  remarkable 
in  his  whole  life,  the  prince  thought  himself  a  young  Na- 
poleon. That  great  man,  he  had  read,  had  received  favours 
from  several  of  the  most  beautiful  women  of  his  court.  Now 
that  he  too  was  a  Napoleon  by  his  success  in  love,  he  recol- 
lected that  he  had  also  been  a  Napoleon  under  fire.  His  soul 
was  still  glowing  with  delight  over  the  firmness  of  his  treat- 
ment of  the  duchess.  The  sense  that  he  had  achieved  some- 
thing difficult  made  quite  another  man  of  him.  For  a  whole 
fortnight  he  became  accessible  to  generous-minded  argu- 
ment ;  he  showed  some  resolution  of  character. 

He  began,  that  very  day,  by  burning  the  patent  creating 
Rassi  a  count,  which  had  been  lying  on  his  writing-table  for 
the  last  month.  He  dismissed  General  Fabio  Conti,  and 
commanded  Colonel  Lange,  his  successor,  to  tell  him  the 
truth  about  the  poison.  Lange,  a  brave  Polish  soldier,  ter- 
rified the  jailers,  and  found  out  that  Signor  del  Dongo  was 
to  have  been  poisoned  at  his  breakfast,  but  that  too  many 
persons  would  have  had  to  have  been  let  into  the  secret. 
At  his  dinner,  measures  had  been  more  carefully  taken,  and 
but  for  General  Fontana's  arrival,  Monsignore  del  Dongo 
would  have  died.  The  prince  was  thrown  into  consternation. 
But,  desperately  in  love  as  he  was,  it  was  a  consolation  to 
him  to  be  able  to  think,  "  It  turns  out  that  I  really  have 
saved  Monsignore  del  Dongo's  life,  and  the  duchess  will 
not  dare  to  break  the  word  she  has  given  me."  From  this 
thought  another  proceeded :  "  My  way  of  life  is  much  more 
difficult  than  I  supposed.  Every  one  agrees  that  the  duchess 
is  an  exceedingly  clever  woman.  In  this  case  my  interest 
and  my  heart  agree.  What  divine  happiness  it  would  be  for 
me,  if  she  would  become  my  Prime  Minister !  " 

480 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

So  worried  was  the  prince  by  the  horrors  he  had  discov- 
ered, that  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  acting  that 
evening. 

"  It  would  be  too  great  a  happiness  for  me,"  said  he  to 
the  duchess,  "  if  you  would  rule  my  dominions,  even  as  you 
rule  my  heart.  To  begin  with,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  how 
I  have  spent  my  day."  And  he  began  to  relate  everything 
very  exactly.  How  he  had  burned  Rassi's  patent,  his  ap- 
pointment of  Lange,  Lange's  report  on  the  attempted  poi- 
soning, and  so  forth. 

"  I  feel  I  am  a  very  inexperienced  ruler.  The  count's 
jokes  humiliate  me.  Even  at  the  council-table  he  jokes,  and 
in  general  society  he  says  things  which  you  will  say  are  not 
true.  He  declares  I  am  a  child,  and  that  he  leads  me  wher- 
ever he  chooses.  Though  I  am  a  prince,  madam,  I  am  a 
man  as  well,  and  such  remarks  are  very  vexatious.  To  cast 
doubt  on  the  stories  Mosca  put  about,  I  was  induced  to  ap- 
point that  dangerous  scoundrel  Rassi  to  the  ministry.  And 
now  here  I  have  General  Fabio  Conti,  who  still  believes  him 
to  be  so  powerful  that  he  dares  not  confess  whether  it  was 
he  or  the  Raversi  who  suggested  his  making  away  with  your 
nephew,  I  have  a  good  mind  to  have  General  Fabio  Conti 
tried.  The  judges  would  soon  find  out  whether  he  is  guilty 
of  the  attempted  poisoning." 

"  But  have  you  any  judges,  sir?  " 

"  What !  "  said  the  prince,  astounded. 

"  You  Have  learned  lawyers,  sir,  who  look  very  solemn 
as  they  walk  through  the  streets.  But  their  verdicts  will 
always  follow  the  will  of  the  dominant  party  at  your  court." 

While  the  young  prince,  thoroughly  scandalized,  was 
saying  a  number  of  things  which  proved  his  candour  to  be 
far  greater  than  his  wisdom,  the  duchess  was  thinking  to 
herself. 

"  Will  it  answer  my  purpose  to  have  Conti  dishonoured  ? 
Certainly  not,  for  then  his  daughter's  marriage  with  that 
worthy  commonplace  individual  Crescenzi  becomes  impos- 
sible." 

An  endless  conversation  followed  on  this  subject  be- 
tween the  duchess  and  the  prince.    The  prince's  admiration 

481 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

quite  blinded  him.  Out  of  consideration  for  Clelia's  mar- 
riage with  the  Marchese  Crescenzi,  but  on  this  account 
solely,  as  he  angrily  informed  the  ex-governor,  the  prince 
overlooked  his  attempt  to  poison  a  prisoner.  But,  advised 
by  the  duchess,  he  sent  him  into  banishment  until  the  date 
of  his  daughter's  marriage.  The  duchess  believed  she  no 
longer  loved  Fabrizio,  but  she  was  passionately  anxious  to 
see  Clelia  married  to  the  marchese.  This  came  of  her  vague 
hope  that  she  might  thus  see  Fabrizio  grow  less  absent- 
minded. 

In  his  delight,  the  prince  would  have  disgraced  Rassi 
openly  that  very  night.    The  duchess  said  to  him  laughingly  : 

"  Do  not  you  know  a  saying  of  Napoleon's,  that  a  man 
in  a  high  position,  on  whom  all  men's  eyes  are  fixed,  must 
never  allow  himself  to  act  in  anger?  But  it  is  too  late  to  do 
anything  to-night.  Let  us  put  oflF  all  business  until  to- 
morrow." 

She  wanted  to  get  time  to  consult  the  count,  to  whom 
she  faithfully  repeated  the  whole  of  the  evening's  conversa- 
tion, only  suppressing  the  prince's  frequent  references  to  a 
promise  the  thought  of  which  poisoned  her  existence.  The 
duchess  hoped  to  make  herself  so  indispensable  that  she 
would  be  able  to  get  the  matter  indefinitely  adjourned  by 
saying  to  the  prince,  "If  you  are  so  barbarous  as  to  make 
me  endure  such  a  humiliation,  which  I  should  never  forgive, 
I  will  leave  your  state  the  next  morning." 

The  count,  when  the  duchess  consulted  with  him  as  to 
Rassi's  fate,  behaved  like  a  true  philosopher.  Rassi  and 
General  Fabio  Conti  travelled  to  Piedmont  together. 

A  very  peculiar  difficulty  arose  in  connection  with  Fa- 
brizio's  trial.  The  judges  wanted  to  acquit  him  by  acclama- 
tion at  their  very  first  sitting. 

The  count  was  obliged  to  use  threats  to  make  the  trial 
last  a  week,  and  insure  the  hearing  of  all  the  witnesses. 
"  These  people  are  all  alike,"  said  he  to  himself. 

The  day  after  his  acquittal,  Fabrizio  del  Dongo  took 
possession,  at  last,  of  his  post  as  grand  vicar  to  the  good 
Archbishop  Landriani.  On  that  same  day  the  prince  signed 
the  despatches  necessary  to  insure  Fabrizio's  appointment 

482 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

as  the  archbishop's  coadjutor  and  ultimate  successor,  and 
within  less  than  two  months,  he  was  installed  in  this  position. 

Everybody  complimented  the  duchess  on  her  nephew's 
serious  bearing.    As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  in  utter  despair. 

Immediately  after  his  deliverance,  which  had  been  fol- 
lowed by  General  Fabio  Conti's  disgrace  and  banishment, 
and  the  duchess's  accession  to  the  highest  favour,  Clelia  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  house  of  her  aunt,  the  Countess  Can- 
tarini,  a  very  rich  and  very  aged  woman,  who  never  thought 
of  anything  but  her  health.  Clelia  might  have  seen  Fabrizio, 
but  any  one  acquainted  with  her  former  engagements,  and 
seeing  her  present  mode  of  behaviour,  would  have  con- 
cluded that  her  regard  for  her  lover  had  departed  when  the 
danger  in  which  he  stood  had  disappeared.  Fabrizio  not 
only  walked  past  the  Palazzo  Cantarini  as  often  as  he  decently 
could ;  he  had  also  succeeded,  after  endless  trouble,  in  hiring 
a  small  lodging  opposite  the  first  floor  of  the  mansion.  Once, 
when  Qelia  had  thoughtlessly  stationed  herself  at  the  win- 
dow, to  watch  a  procession  pass  by,  she  had  started  back, 
as  though  terror-struck.  She  had  caught  sight  of  Fabrizio, 
dressed  in  black,  but  as  a  very  poor  workman,  looking  at 
her  out  of  one  of  his  garret  windows,  filled  with  oiled  paper, 
like  those  of  his  room  in  the  Farnese  Tower.  Fabrizio  would 
have  been  very  thankful  to  persuade  himself  that  Clelia  was 
avoiding  him  on  account  of  her  father's  disgrace,  which 
public  rumour  ascribed  to  the  duchess.  But  he  was  only 
too  well  acquainted  with  another  cause  for  her  retirement, 
and  nothing  could  cheer  his  sadness. 

Neither  his  acquittal,  nor  his  important  functions,  the 
first  he  had  been  called  on  to  perform,  nor  his  fine  social 
position,  nor  even  the  assiduous  court  paid  him  by  all  the 
clergy  and  devout  persons  in  the  diocese,  touched  him  in  the 
least.  His  charming  rooms  in  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina  were 
no  longer  large  enough.  The  duchess,  to  her  great  delight, 
was  obliged  to  give  him  the  whole  of  the  second  floor  of  her 
palace,  and  two  fine  rooms  on  the  first  floor,  which  were 
always  full  of  people  waiting  to  pay  their  duty  to  the  youth- 
ful coadjutor.  The  clause  insuring  his  succession  to  the 
archbishopric  had  created  an  extraordinary  effect  in  the 

483 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

country.  Those  resolute  qualities  in  Fabrizio's  character, 
which  had  once  so  scandalized  the  needy  and  foolish  cour- 
tiers, were  now  ascribed  to  him  as  virtues. 

It  was  a  great  lesson  in  philosophy  to  Fabrizio  to  find 
himself  so  utterly  indifferent  to  all  these  honours,  and  far 
more  unhappy  in  his  splendid  rooms,  with  half  a  score  of 
lackeys  dressed  in  his  liveries,  than  he  had  been  in  his 
wooden  chamber  in  the  Farnese  Tower,  with  hideous  jailers 
all  about  him,  and  in  perpetual  terror  for  his  life.     His 

mother  and  his  sister,  the  Duchess  V ,  who  had  travelled 

to  Parma  to  see  him  in  his  glory,  were  struck  by  his  deep 
melancholy.  So  greatly  did  it  alarm  the  Marchesa  del 
Dongo,  who  had  become  the  most  unromantic  of  women, 
that  she  thought  he  must  have  been  given  some  slow  poison 
in  the  Farnese  Tower.  Discreet  as  she  was,  she  felt  it  her 
duty  to  speak  to  him  about  his  extraordinary  depression,  and 
Fabrizio's  tears  were  his  only  answer. 

The  innumerable  advantages  arising  out  of  his  brilliant 
position  produced  no  impression  on  him,  save  one  of  vexa- 
tion. His  brother,  that  vainest  of  mortals,  eaten  up  with  the 
vilest  selfishness,  wrote  him  an  almost  formal  letter  of  con- 
gratulation, and  with  this  letter  he  received  a  bank  bill  for 
fifty  thousand  francs,  to  enable  him,  so  the  new  marchese 
wrote,  to  purchase  horses  and  carriages  worthy  of  his  name. 
Fabrizio  sent  the  money  to  his  younger  sister,  who  had 
made  a  poor  marriage. 

Count  Mosca  had  caused  a  fine  Italian  translation  to  be 
made  of  the  Latin  genealogy  of  the  Valserra  del  Dongo 
family,  originally  published  by  Fabrizio,  Archbishop  of 
Parma.  This  he  had  splendidly  printed,  with  the  Latin  text 
on  the  opposite  page ;  the  engravings  had  been  reproduced 
by  magnificent  lithographs,  done  in  Paris.  By  the  duchess's 
desire  a  fine  portrait  of  Fabrizio  was  inserted,  opposite  that 
of  the  late  archbishop.  This  translation  was  published  as 
Fabrizio's  work,  executed  during  his  first  imprisonment. 
But  in  our  hero's  heart  every  feeling  was  dead,  even  the 
vanity  inherent  in  every  human  creature.  He  did  not  con- 
descend to  read  one  page  of  the  volume  attributed  to  him. 
His  social  position  made  it  incumbent  on  him  to  present  a 

484 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

magnificently  bound  copy  of  it  to  the  prince,  who,  thinking 
he  owed  him  some  amends  for  having  brought  him  so  near 
an  agonizing  death,  granted  him  his  "  grandes  entrees  "  to  the 
sovereign's  apartment — an  honour  which  confers  the  title  of 
"  Eccellenza." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

The  only  moments  when  Fabrizio's  deep  sadness  knew 
a  little  respite  were  those  he  spent  lurking  behind  a  glass 
pane  which  he  had  substituted  for  one  of  the  oiled-paper 
squares  in  the  window  of  his  lodging,  opposite  the  Palazzo 
Cantarini,  to  which  mansion,  as  my  readers  know,  Clelia 
had  retired.  On  the  few  occasions,  since  he  had  left  the 
fortress,  on  which  he  had  caught  sight  of  her,  he  had  been 
profoundly  distressed  by  a  striking  change  in  her  appear- 
ance, from  which  he  augured  very  ill.  Since  Clelia's  one 
moment  of  weakness  her  face  had  assumed  a  most  striking 
appearance  of  nobility  and  gravity.  It  might  have  been  that 
of  a  woman  of  thirty.  In  this  extraordinary  change  of  ex- 
pression Fabrizio  recognised  the  reflection  of  some  deep- 
seated  resolution.  "  Every  moment  of  the  day,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "  she  is  swearing  to  herself  that  she  will  keep  her 
vow  to  the  Madonna,  and  never  look  at  me  again." 

Fabrizio  only  guessed  at  part  of  Clelia's  misery.  She 
knew  that  her  father,  who  had  fallen  into  the  direst  dis- 
grace, would  never  be  able  to  return  to  Parma  and  reappear 
at  the  court  (without  which  life  was  impossible  to  him)  until 
she  married  the  Marchese  Crescenzi.  She  wrote  her  father 
word  that  she  desired  to  be  married.  The  general  was  then 
lying  ill  from  worry  at  Turin.  This  fateful  decision  had  aged 
her  by  ten  years. 

She  was  quite  aware  that  Fabrizio  had  a  window  facing 
the  Palazzo  Cantarini,  but  only  once  had  she  been  so  unfor- 
tunate as  to  look  at  him.  The  moment  she  caught  sight  of 
the  turn  of  a  head  or  the  outline  of  a  figure  the  least  re- 
sembling his,  she  instantly  closed  her  eyes.  Her  deep  piety, 
and  her  trust  in  the  Madonna's  help,  were  to  be  her  only 

486 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

support  for  the  future.  She  had  to  endure  the  sorrow  of 
feeling  no  esteem  for  her  father ;  her  future  husband's  char- 
acter she  took  to  be  perfectly  commonplace,  and  suited  to 
the  dominant  feelings  of  the  upper  ranks  of  society.  To 
crown  it  all,  she  adored  a  man  whom  she  must  never  see 
again,  and  who,  nevertheless,  had  certain  claims  upon  her. 
Taking  it  altogether,  her  fate  seemed  to  her  the  most  miser- 
able that  could  be  conceived,  and  it  must  be  acknowledged 
that  she  was  right.  The  moment  she  was  married  she  ought 
to  have  gone  to  live  two  hundred  leagues  from  Parma. 

Fabrizio  was  acquainted  with  the  extreme  modesty  of 
Clelia's  character ;  he  knew  how  much  any  unusual  step,  the 
discovery  of  which  might  cause  comment,  was  certain  to  dis- 
please her.  Nevertheless,  driven  to  distraction  by  his  own 
sadness,  and  by  seeing  Clelia's  eyes  so  constantly  turned 
away  from  him,  he  ventured  to  try  to  buy  over  two  of  the  ser- 
vants of  her  aunt,  the  Countess  Cantarini.  One  day,  as  dusk 
was  falling,  Fabrizio,  dressed  like  a  respectable  countryman, 
presented  himself  at  the  door  of  the  palace,  at  which  one  of 
the  servants  he  had  bribed  was  awaiting  him.  He  an- 
nounced that  he  had  just  arrived  from  Turin  with  letters  for 
Clelia  from  her  father.  The  servant  took  up  his  message, 
and  then  conducted  him  into  a  huge  antechamber  on  the  first 
floor.  In  this  apartment  Fabrizio  spent  what  was  perhaps  the 
most  anxious  quarter  of  an  hour  in  his  whole  life.  If  Clelia 
repulsed  him  he  could  never  hope  to  know  peace  again. 
"  To  cut  short  the  wearisome  duties  with  which  my  new 
position  overwhelms  me,"  he  mused,  "  I  will  rid  the  Church 
of  an  indifferent  priest,  and  will  take  refuge,  under  a  feigned 
name,  in  some  Carthusian  monastery."  At  last  the  servant 
appeared,  and  told  him  the  Signorina  Clelia  was  willing  to 
receive  him. 

Our  hero's  courage  quite  failed  him  as  he  climbed  the 
staircase  to  the  second  floor,  and  he  very  nearly  fell  down 
from  sheer  fright. 

Clelia  was  sitting  at  a  little  table,  on  which  a  solitary  taper 
was  burning.  No  sooner  did  she  recognise  Fabrizio,  under 
his  disguise,  than  she  rushed  away,  and  hid  herself  at  the  far 
end  of  the  drawing-room.    "  This  is  how  you  care  for  my 

487 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

salvation,"  she  cried,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.  "  Yet 
you  know  that  when  my  father  was  at  the  point  of  death 
from  poison,  I  made  a  vow  to  the  Madonna  that  I  would 
never  see  you.  That  vow  I  have  never  broken  except  on 
that  one  day — the  most  wretched  of  my  life — when  my  con- 
science commanded  me  to  save  you  from  death.  I  do  a  great 
deal  when,  by  putting  a  forced  and,  no  doubt,  a  wicked  in- 
terpretation on  my  vow,  I  consent  even  to  listen  to  you." 

Fabrizio  was  so  astounded  by  this  last  sentence  that,  for 
a  few  seconds,  he  was  incapable  even  of  rejoicing  over  it. 
He  had  expected  to  see  Clelia  rush  away  in  the  most  lively 
anger.  But  at  last  he  recovered  his  presence  of  mind,  and 
blew  out  the  candle.  Although  he  believed  he  had  under- 
stood Clelia's  wishes,  he  was  trembling  with  alarm  as  he 
moved  toward  the  far  end  of  the  drawing-room,  where  she 
had  taken  refuge  behind  a  sofa.  He  did  not  know  whether 
she  might  not  take  it  ill  if  he  kissed  her  hand.  Throbbing 
with  passion,  she  cast  herself  into  his  arms. 

"  Dearest  Fabrizio,"  she  said,  "  how  slow  you  have  been 
in  coming !  I  can  only  speak  to  you  for  a  few  moments,  for 
even  that  is  certainly  a  great  sin,  and  when  I  promised  that 
I  would  never  see  you  again,  there  is  no  doubt  I  understood 
myself  to  promise  that  I  would  never  speak  to  you  either. 
But  how  can  you  punish  my  poor  father's  vengeful  thought 
so  barbarously  ?  For,  after  all,  he  was  nearly  poisoned,  first, 
to  facilitate  your  flight.  Should  you  not  have  done  something 
for  me,  who  risked  my  fair  fame  to  save  you  ?  Besides,  now 
you  are  altogether  bound  to  the  priestly  life,  you  could  not 
marry  me,  even  if  I  found  means  of  getting  rid  of  this  de- 
testable marchese.  And  then,  how  could  you  dare  to  attempt 
to  see  me  in  full  daylight,  on  the  day  of  that  procession,  and 
thus  violate  my  holy  vow  to  the  Madonna,  in  the  most 
shocking  manner?  " 

Beside  himself  with  surprise  and  happiness,  Fabrizio 
clasped  her  closely  in  his  arms. 

A  conversation  which  had  to  begin  by  explaining  so 
many  things  was  necessarily  a  long  one.  Fabrizio  told  Clelia 
the  exact  truth  as  to  her  father's  banishment.  The  duchess 
had  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it,  for  the  very  good 

488 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

reason  that  she  had  never  thought,  for  a  single  instant,  that 
the  idea  of  poison  had  emanated  from  General  Conti.  She 
had  always  believed  that  to  be  a  witticism  on  the  part  of 
the  Raversi  faction,  which  was  bent  on  driving  out  Count 
Mosca.  His  long  dissertation  on  this  historical  fact  made 
Clelia  very  happy ;  she  had  been  wretched  at  the  thought  that 
it  was  her  duty  to  hate  any  one  belonging  to  Fabrizio,  and 
she  no  longer  looked  on  the  duchess  with  a  jealous  eye. 

The  happiness  consequent  on  that  evening's  meeting 
only  lasted  a  few  days. 

The  worthy  Don  Cesare  arrived  from  Turin,  and  found 
courage,  in  his  perfect  single-heartedness,  to  seek  the  pres- 
ence of  the  duchess.  After  having  obtained  her  word  that 
she  would  not  betray  the  confidence  he  was  about  to  repose 
in  her,  he  confessed  that  his  brother,  misled  by  a  false  idea 
of  honour,  and  believing  himself  defied  and  ruined  in  public 
opinion  by  Fabrizio's  escape,  had  believed  himself  bound  to 
seek  for  vengeance. 

Before  Don  Cesare  had  talked  for  two  minutes  his  cause 
was  won ;  his  absolute  honesty  had  touched  the  duchess,  who 
was  not  accustomed  to  such  exhibitions ;  its  novelty  de- 
lighted her. 

"  Hurry  on  the  marriage  of  the  general's  daughter  with 
the  Marchese  Crescenzi,  and  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour 
that  I  will  do  everything  I  can  to  have  the  general  received 
as  if  he  were  coming  back  from  an  ordinary  journey.  I  will 
ask  him  to  dinner  myself.  Will  that  satisfy  you  ?  No  doubt 
there  will  be  a  stiffness  at  first,  and  the  general  must  not  be 
too  hasty  about  asking  to  be  reappointed  governor  of  the 
citadel.  But  you  know  my  regard  for  the  marchese ;  I  shall 
bear  no  grudge  against  his  father-in-law." 

Armed  with  these  assurances,  Don  Cesare  sought  his 
niece,  and  told  her  that  her  father's  life  lay  in  her  hands ;  he 
had  fallen  ill  from  sheer  despair,  not  having  appeared  at  any 
court  for  several  months. 

Clelia  insisted  on  going  to  see  her  father,  who  was  hiding 
under  a  false  name  in  a  village  near  Turin;  for  he  had 
taken  it  into  his  head  that  the  court  of  Parma  would  request 
his  extradition,  with  the  object  of  bringing  him  to  trial.    She 

489 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

found  him  in  bed,  ill,  and  almost  out  of  his  mind.  That  very 
night  she  wrote  a  letter  to  Fabrizio,  breaking  with  him  for- 
ever. On  receiving  the  letter,  Fabrizio,  whose  character  was 
growing  very  like  that  of  his  mistress,  went  into  retreat  at 
the  Convent  of  Velleia,  in  the  mountains,  some  thirty 
leagues  from  Parma.  Clelia  had  written  him  a  letter  that 
covered  ten  pages.  She  had  solemnly  sworn  she  would 
never  marry  the  marchese  without  his  consent.  That  con- 
sent she  now  besought,  and  Fabrizio  granted  it  in  a  letter 
written  from  his  retreat  at  Velleia,  and  breathing  the  purest 
friendship. 

When  Clelia  received  this  letter — the  friendly  tone  of 
which  nettled  her,  we  must  acknowledge — she  herself  fixed 
her  wedding-day,  and  the  festivities  connected  with  it  added 
to  the  splendour  which  rendered  the  court  of  Parma  specially 
noticeable  that  winter. 

Ranuzio-Ernest  V  was  a  miser  at  heart,  but  he  was  des- 
perately in  love,  and  he  hoped  to  keep  the  duchess  perma- 
nently at  his  court.  He  begged  his  mother's  acceptance  of 
a  considerable  sum  of  money,  to  be  spent  in  entertaining. 
The  mistress  of  the  robes  made  admirable  use  of  this  addi- 
tion to  the  royal  income ;  the  festivities  at  Parma  that  winter 
recalled  the  best  days  of  the  Milanese  court,  and  of  Prince 
Eugene,  that  lovable  viceroy  of  Italy,  the  memory  of  whose 
goodness  has  endured  so  long. 

The  archbishop's  coadjutor  had  been  recalled  to  Parma 
by  his  duties.  But  he  gave  out  that,  from  religious  motives, 
he  should  continue  to  live  in  retirement  in  the  small  apart- 
ment in  the  archiepiscopal  palace  which  his  protector,  Mon- 
signore  Landriani,  had  insisted  on  his  accepting,  and  thither 
he  retired,  with  one  servant  only.  He  was  not  present, 
therefore,  at  any  of  the  brilliant  court  entertainments,  and 
this  fact  earned  him  a  most  saintly  reputation  in  Parma,  and 
all  over  his  future  diocese.  An  unexpected  result  of  this 
retirement,  which  had  been  inspired  solely  by  Fabrizio's  pro- 
found and  hopeless  sadness,  was  that  the  worthy  archbishop, 
who  had  always  loved  him,  and  who,  in  fact,  had  been  the 
person  who  had  first  thought  of  having  him  appointed  coad- 
jutor, began  to  feel  a  little  jealous.    The  archbishop,  and 

490 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

very  rightly,  conceived  it  his  duty  to  attend  all  the  court 
functions,  according  to  the  usual  Italian  custom.  On  these 
occasions  he  wore  his  gala  costume,  very  nearly  the  same  as 
that  in  which  he  appeared  in  his  cathedral  choir.  The  hun- 
dreds of  servants  gathered  in  the  pillared  anteroom  of  the 
palace  never  failed  to  rise  and  crave  the  archbishop's  bless- 
ing as  he  passed,  and  he,  as  invariably,  condescended  to  stop 
and  bestow  it.  It  was  during  one  of  these  moments  of 
solemn  silence  that  Monsignore  Landriani  heard  a  voice  say- 
ing :  "  Our  archbishop  goes  to  balls,  and  Monsignore  del 
Dongo  never  goes  out  of  his  room." 

From  that  moment  the  immense  favour  in  which  Fabrizio 
had  stood  at  the  archiepiscopal  palace  came  to  an  end.  But 
he  was  able,  now,  to  stand  on  his  own  feet.  The  behaviour 
which  had  only  been  actuated  by  the  despair  into  which 
Clelia's  marriage  had  cast  him,  was  taken  to  be  the  result 
of  his  simple  and  lofty  piety,  and  devout  folk  read  the  trans- 
lation of  his  family  genealogy,  which  exemplified  the  most 
ridiculous  vanity,  as  though  it  were  an  edifying  work.  The 
booksellers  published  a  lithographed  edition  of  his  picture, 
which  was  bought  up  in  a  few  days,  and  more  especially  by 
the  lower  classes.  The  engraver,  out  of  ignorance,  sur- 
rounded Fabrizio's  portrait  with  several  adornments,  which 
should  only  have  appeared  on  the  portrait  of  a  bishop,  and  to 
which  a  coadjutor  could  lay  no  claim.  The  archbishop  saw 
one  of  these  pictures,  and  his  fury  exceeded  all  bounds.  He 
sent  for  Fabrizio,  and  spoke  to  him  in  the  harshest  manner, 
and  in  terms  which  his  rage  occasionally  rendered  very 
coarse.  Fabrizio  had  no  difficulty,  as  my  readers  will  readily 
believe,  in  behaving  as  Fenelon  would  have  done  in  such  a 
case.  He  listened  to  the  archbishop  with  all  possible  hu- 
mility and  respect,  and  when  the  prelate  ceased  speaking,  he 
told  him  the  whole  story  of  the  translation  of  the  genealogy 
by  Count  Mosca's  orders,  at  the  time  of  his  first  imprison- 
ment. It  had  been  published  for  worldly  ends — such,  in- 
deed, as  had  seemed  to  him  (Fabrizio),  by  no  means  suited 
for  a  man  in  his  position.  As  to  the  portrait,  he  had  had  as 
little  to  do  with  the  second  edition  as  with  the  first.  During 
his  retreat  the  bookseller  had  sent  him  twenty-four  copies  of 

491 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

this  second  edition  addressed  to  the  archiepiscopal  palace. 
He  had  sent  his  servant  to  buy  a  twenty-fifth  copy,  and  hav- 
ing thus  discovered  that  the  price  of  each  to  be  thirty  sous, 
he  had  sent  a  hundred  francs  in  payment  for  the  first  twenty- 
four  portraits. 

All  these  arguments,  though  put  forward  in  the  most 
reasonable  manner,  by  a  man  whose  heart  was  full  of  sorrow 
of  a  very  different  kind,  increased  the  archbishop's  fury  to 
madness.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  accuse  Fabrizio  of 
hypocrisy. 

"  This  is  what  comes  of  being  a  common  man,"  said  Fa- 
brizio to  himself,  "  even  when  he  is  clever." 

He  had  a  more  serious  trouble  at  that  moment,  in  the 
shape  of  his  aunt's  letters,  which  absolutely  insisted  on  his 
returning  to  his  rooms  at  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina,  or,  at 
all  events,  on  his  coming  occasionally  to  see  her.  In  that 
house  Fabrizio  felt  he  was  certain  to  hear  talk  of  the  Mar- 
chese  Crescenzi's  splendid  entertainments  in  honour  of  his 
marriage,  and  he  was  not  sure  he  would  be  able  to  endure 
this  without  making  an  exhibition  of  himself. 

When  the  marriage  ceremony  took  place,  Fabrizio  had 
already  kept  utter  silence  for  a  week,  after  having  com- 
manded his  servant,  and  those  persons  in  the  archbishop's 
palace  with  whom  he  had  to  do,  never  to  open  their  lips 
to  him. 

When  Archbishop  Landriani  became  aware  of  this  fresh 
piece  of  affectation  he  sent  for  Fabrizio  much  oftener  than 
was  his  wont,  and  insisted  on  holding  lengthy  conversations 
with  him.  He  even  made  him  confer  with  certain  of  his 
country  canons,  who  complained  that  the  archbishop  had 
contravened  their  privileges.  Fabrizio  took  all  this  with 
the  perfect  indifference  of  a  man  whose  head  is  full  of  other 
things.  "  I  should  do  much  better,"  thought  he,  "  to  turn 
Carthusian.  I  should  be  less  wretched  among  the  rocks  at 
Velleia." 

He  paid  a  visit  to  his  aunt,  and  could  not  restrain  his 
tears  when  he  kissed  her.  He  was  so  altered,  his  eyes,  which 
his  excessive  thinness  made  look  larger  than  ever,  seeming 
ready  to  start  out  of  his  head,  and  his  whole  appearance,  in 

492 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

his  threadbare  black  cassock,  was  so  miserable  and  wretched, 
that  at  her  first  sight  of  him  the  duchess  could  hardly  help 
crying  too.  But  a  moment  later,  when  she  had  told  herself 
it  was  Clelia's  marriage  that  had  so  sorely  changed  this 
handsome  young  fellow,  her  feelings  were  as  fierce  as  those 
of  the  archbishop,  though  more  skilfully  concealed.  She 
was  cruel  enough  to  dilate  at  length  on  various  picturesque 
details  which  had  marked  the  Marchese  Crescenzi's  delight- 
ful entertainments.  Fabrizio  made  no  reply,  but  his  eyes 
closed  with  a  little  convulsive  flutter,  and  he  turned  even 
paler  than  before,  which  at  first  sight  would  have  been  taken 
to  be  impossible.  At  such  moments  of  excessive  misery  his 
pallor  took  a  greenish  tint. 

Count  Mosca  came  into  the  room,  and  the  sight  he  be- 
held (and  which  appeared  to  him  incredible)  cured  him,  once 
for  all,  of  that  jealousy  of  Fabrizio  which  he  had  never 
ceased  to  feel.  This  gifted  man  made  the  most  delicate  and 
ingenious  endeavours  to  rouse  Fabrizio  to  some  interest  in 
mundane  affairs.  The  count  had  always  felt  an  esteem,  and 
a  certain  regard  for  him.  This  regard,  being  no  longer  coun- 
terbalanced by  jealousy,  deepened  into  something  approach- 
ing devotion.  "  He  really  has  paid  honestly  for  his  fine 
position,"  said  Mosca  to  himself,  as  he  summed  up  Fa- 
brizio's  misfortunes.  On  pretext  of  showing  him  the 
Parmegiano,  which  the  prince  had  sent  the  duchess,  the 
count  drew  Fabrizio  apart. 

"  Hark  ye,  my  friend,  let  us  speak  as  man  to  man.  Can 
I  serve  you  in  any  way  ?  You  need  not  fear  I  shall  question 
you.  But  tell  me,  would  money  be  of  any  use  to  you  ?  Can 
interest  serve  you  in  any  fashion?  Speak  out;  you  may 
command  me — or,  if  you  prefer  it,  write  to  me." 

Fabrizio  embraced  him  affectionately,  and  talked  about 
the  picture. 

"  Your  behaviour  is  a  masterpiece  of  the  most  skilful 
policy,"  said  the  count,  returning  to  an  ordinary  light  con- 
versational tone.  "  You  are  laying  up  a  most  admirable 
future  for  yourself.  The  prince  respects  you.  The  populace 
venerates  you.  Your  threadbare  black  suit  keeps  Arch- 
bishop Landriani  awake  o'  nights.     I  have  some  acquaint- 

493 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ance  with  political  business,  and  I  vow  I  don't  know  what 
advice  I  could  give  you  to  improve  it.  Your  first  step  in 
society,  made  at  five-and-twenty,  has  placed  you  in  a  posi- 
tion that  is  absolutely  perfect.  You  are  very  much  talked 
about  at  court,  And  do  you  know  to  what  it  is  you  owe 
a  distinction  which,  at  your  age,  is  unique  ?  To  your  thread- 
bare black  garments.  The  duchess  and  I,  as  you  know,  are 
in  possession  of  the  house  Petrarch  once  owned,  which 
stands  on  a  beautiful  hill  in  the  forest,  close  to  the  river.  It 
has  struck  me  that  if  ever  the  small  spites  of  envious  folk 
should  weary  you,  you  might  become  Petrarch's  successor, 
and  his  renown  would  set  off  yours."  The  count  was  rack- 
ing his  brains  to  bring  a  smile  to  the  wasted  melancholy 
face.  But  he  could  not  do  it.  What  made  the  alteration  in 
Fabrizio's  countenance  all  the  more  striking  was  that  until 
quite  lately  its  fault,  if  it  possessed  one,  had  been  its  occa- 
sionally unseasonable  expression  of  sensuous  enjoyment  and 
gay  delight. 

The  count  did  not  allow  him  to  depart  without  telling 
him  that  in  spite  of  the  retirement  in  which  he  was  living,  it 
might  look  somewhat  affected  if  he  did  not  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance at  court  on  the  following  Saturday — the  princess- 
mother's  birthday.  The  words  went  through  Fabrizio  like 
a  dagger  thrust.  "  Good  God !  "  thought  he,  "  what  pos- 
sessed me  to  enter  this  house  ?  "  He  could  not  think  of  the 
meeting  he  might  have  to  face  at  court,  without  a  shudder. 
The  thought  of  it  overrode  all  others.  He  made  up  his 
mind  that  his  only  remaining  chance  was  to  reach  the  palace 
at  the  very  moment  when  the  doors  of  the  reception  rooms 
were  thrown  open. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Monsignore  del  Dongo's  name  was 
one  of  the  first  to  be  announced  at  the  great  state  enter- 
tainment, and  the  princess  received  him  with  all  imaginable 
courtesy.  Fabrizio  kept  his  eyes  on  the  clock,  and  as  soon 
as  the  hand  pointed  to  the  twentieth  minute  of  his  visit,  he 
rose  to  take  his  leave.  But  just  at  that  moment  the  prince 
entered  his  mother's  apartment.  After  paying  him  his  duty, 
Fabrizio  was  skilfully  edging  toward  the  door,  when  to  his 
g^eat  discomfiture,  one  of  those  trifles  of  court  etiquette 

494 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

with  the  use  of  which  the  mistress  of  the  robes  was  so  well 
acquainted,  was  suddenly  sprung  upon  him.  The  chamber- 
lain in  waiting  ran  after  him  to  say  he  had  been  named  to 
join  the  prince's  whist  party.  This,  at  Parma,  is  an  exces- 
sive honour,  far  transcending  the  rank  the  archbishop's  co- 
adjutor occupies  in  society.  To  play  whist  with  the  sover- 
eign would  be  a  special  honour  for  the  archbishop  himself. 
Fabrizio  felt  the  chamberlain's  words  go  through  him  like  a 
dart,  and  mortally  as  he  hated  any  public  scene,  he  very 
nearly  told  him  he  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden  attack  of 
giddiness.  But  it  occurred  to  him  that  this  would  expose 
him  to  questions,  and  complimentary  condolences,  even 
more  intolerable  than  the  game  of  cards  would  be.  He 
hated  to  open  his  mouth  that  day. 

Luckily,  the  superior  general  of  the  Franciscan  Friars 
happened  to  be  among  the  important  personages  who  had 
come  to  offer  their  congratulations  to  the  princess.  This 
monk,  a  very  learned  man,  and  worthy  follower  of  Fontana 
and  Duvoisin,  had  taken  his  stand  in  a  distant  corner  of  the 
reception  room.  Fabrizio  placed  himself  in  front  of  him, 
turning  round  so  as  not  to  see  the  doorway  into  the  room, 
and  began  talking  theology  with  him.  But  he  could  not 
prevent  himself  from  hearing  the  Marchese  and  Marchesa 
Crescenzi  announced.  Contrary  to  his  own  expectation,  Fa- 
brizio experienced  a  sensation  of  violent  anger. 

"  If  I  were  Borso  Valserra  "  (one  of  the  first  Sforza's 
generals),  said  he  to  himself,  "  I  should  go  over  and  stab  that 
dull  marchese,  with  the  very  ivory-handled  dagger  Clelia 
gave  me  on  that  blessed  day,  and  I  would  teach  him  to  have 
the  insolence  of  showing  himself  with  his  marchesa  any- 
where in  my  presence."  His  face  had  altered  so  completely 
that  the  superior  general  of  the  Franciscans  said  to  him : 

"  Is  your  Excellency  ill  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  frightful  headache  .  .  .  the  light  hurts  me  .  .  . 
and  I  am  only  staying  on  because  I  have  been  desired  to 
join  the  prince's  whist  party." 

At  these  words  the  superior  general  of  the  Franciscans, 
who  was  a  man  of  the  middle  class,  was  so  taken  aback,  that, 
not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  he  began  bowing  to  Fabrizio^ 

495 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

who,  on  his  side,  being  far  more  agitated  than  the  superior 
general,  fell  to  talking  with  the  most  extraordinary  volubil- 
ity. He  noticed  that  a  great  silence  had  fallen  on  the  room 
behind  him,  but  he  would  not  look  round.  Suddenly  the 
bow  of  a  violin  was  rapped  against  a  desk,  some  one  played 

a  flourish,  and  the  famous  singer,  Signora  P ,  sang  Ci- 

marosa's  once  celebrated  air,  Quelle  pupille  tenere.  Fa- 
brizio  stood  his  ground  for  the  first  few  bars.  But  soon 
his  anger  melted  within  him,  and  he  felt  an  intense  longing 
for  tears.  "  Good  God,"  he  thought,  "  what  an  absurd 
scene !  and  with  my  priestly  habit,  too !  "  He  thought  it 
wiser  to  talk  about  himself. 

"  These  violent  headaches  of  mine,  when  I  fight  against 
them  as  I  am  doing  to-night,"  said  he  to  the  superior  gen- 
eral of  the  Franciscans,  "  always  end  in  crying  fits,  which 
might  give  rise  to  ill-natured  comment,  in  the  case  of  a  man 
of  our  calling.  So  I  beseech  your  most  illustrious  rever- 
ence will  give  me  leave  to  look  at  you  while  I  weep,  and 
will  make  no  remark  on  my  condition." 

"  Our  provincial  at  Catanara  suffers  from  just  the  very 
same  discomfort,"  said  the  general  of  the  Franciscans,  and 
he  began  a  long  story  in  an  undertone. 

The  absurdity  of  the  tale,  which  involved  a  recital  of 
everything  the  provincial  ate  at  his  evening  meal,  made  Fa- 
brizio  smile,  a  thing  he  had  not  done  for  many  a  day.  But 
he  soon  ceased  listening  to  the  superior  general.     Signora 

P was  singing,  in  the  most  divine  fashion,  an  air  by  Per- 

golese  (the  princess  had  a  fondness  for  old-fashioned  music). 
There  was  a  slight  noise  three  paces  from  Fabrizio.  For 
the  first  time  that  evening  he  turned  his  head.  The  chair 
which  had  scraped  on  the  parquet  floor  was  occupied  by  the 
Marchesa  Crescenzi,  whose  eyes,  swimming  with  tears,  met 
Fabrizio's,  which  were  in  no  better  case.  The  marchesa 
bowed  her  head.  For  some  seconds  Fabrizio  went  on  gaz- 
ing at  her.  He  was  studying  that  diamond-laden  head.  But 
his  eyes  were  full  of  anger  and  disdain.  Then,  repeating  to 
himself,  "  And  my  eyes  shall  never  look  on  thee  again"  he 
turned  back  to  the  superior  general  and  said : 

"  My  complaint  is  coming  on  again,  worse  than  ever." 

496 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

And,  indeed,  for  over  half  an  hour  Fabrizio  wept  abun- 
dantly. Fortunately,  one  of  Mozart's  symphonies — vilely 
played,  as  they  generally  are  in  Italy — came  to  his  rescue, 
and  helped  to  dry  his  tears. 

He  held  his  ground,  and  never  looked  toward  the  Mar- 

chesa  Crescenzi.     But  Signora  P began  to  sing  again, 

and  Fabrizio's  soul,  relieved  by  the  tears  he  had  shed,  passed 
into  a  state  of  perfect  calm.  Then  life  looked  different  to 
him.  "  How  can  I  expect,"  he  mused,  "  to  be  able  to  forget 
her  at  the  very  outset  ?  Would  that  be  possible  ?  "  Then 
the  idea  occurred  to  him :  "  Can  I  possibly  be  more  wretched 
than  I  have  been  for  the  last  two  months  ?  And  if  nothing 
can  increase  my  misery,  why  should  I  deny  myself  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her  ?  She  has  forgotten  her  vows,  she  is 
fickle — is  not  every  woman  fickle?  But  who  can  deny  her 
heavenly  beauty?  A  glance  of  hers  throws  me  into  an 
ecstasy,  and  I  have  to  do  myself  violence  even  to  look  at 
other  women,  who  are  supposed  to  be  the  loveliest  of  their 
sex.  Well,  why  should  I  not  enjoy  that  ecstasy?  At  all 
events,  it  will  give  me  a  moment's  respite." 

Fabrizio  knew  something  of  mankind,  but  as  regards 
passion  he  was  without  experience.  Otherwise  he  would 
have  told  himself  that  the  momentary  delight  in  which  he 
was  about  to  indulge  would  stultify  all  the  efforts  he  had 
been  making  for  the  past  two  months  to  forget  Clelia. 

The  poor  lady  had  only  attended  the  reception  under 
her  husband's  compulsion.  She  would  have  departed,  after 
the  first  half-hour,  on  the  score  of  illness.  But  the  marchese 
assured  her  that  to  send  for  her  carriage  and  drive  away, 
while  many  other  carriages  were  still  driving  up,  would  be 
a  most  unusual  proceeding,  and  might  even  be  taken  as  an 
indirect  criticism  of  the  entertainment  offered  by  the 
princess. 

"  As  lord  in  waiting,"  the  marchese  went  on,  "  I  am 
bound  to  remain  in  the  room,  at  the  princess's  orders,  until 
all  the  guests  have  retired.  There  may,  and  there  no  doubt 
will,  be  orders  to  be  given  to  the  servants — they  are  so  care- 
less. Would  you  have  me  allow  a  mere  equerry  to  usurp  this 
honour?" 

497 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Clelia  submitted.  She  had  not  seen  Fabrizio.  She  still 
hoped  he  might  not  be  present  at  the  reception.  But  just 
as  the  concert  was  beginning,  when  the  princess  gave  the 
ladies  permission  to  be  seated,  Clelia,  who  was  anything  but 
pushing  in  such  matters,  allowed  herself  to  be  shouldered 
out  of  the  best  seats,  near  the  princess,  and  was  forced  to 
seek  a  chair  at  the  back  of  the  room,  in  the  very  distant 
corner  to  which  Fabrizio  had  retired.  When  she  reached 
her  seat  the  dress  of  the  Franciscan  superior  general,  an 
unusual  one  in  such  company,  caught  her  attention,  and 
at  first  she  did  not  notice  the  slight  man  in  a  plain  black 
coat  who  was  talking  to  him.  Yet  a  certain  secret  impulse 
made  her  rivet  her  eyes  on  that  person. 

"  Every  man  here  is  in  uniform,  or  wears  a  richly  em- 
broidered coat.  Who  can  that  young  man  in  the  plain  black 
suit  be  ?  "  She  was  gazing  at  him  attentively,  when  a  lady, 
passing  to  a  seat  near  her,  jerked  her  chair.  Fabrizio  turned 
his  head.  So  altered  was  he  that  she  did  not  recognise  him. 
She  said  to  herself  at  first :  "  Here  is  somebody  who  is  like 
him.  It  must  be  his  elder  brother.  But  I  thought  he  was 
only  a  few  years  older,  and  this  man  must  be  five-and- 
forty."  Suddenly  she  recognised  him  by  the  way  his  lips 
moved. 

"  Poor  fellow,  how  he  has  suffered !  "  she  thought.  And 
she  bowed  her  head,  not  on  account  of  her  vow,  but  crushed 
by  her  misery.  Her  heart  was  swelling  with  pity.  He  had 
not  looked  anything  like  that,  even  after  he  had  been  shut 
up  nine  months  in  prison.  She  did  not  look  at  him  again. 
But  though  her  eyes  were  not  exactly  turned  toward  him, 
she  was  conscious  of  his  every  movement. 

When  the  concert  came  to  an  end,  she  saw  him  go  over 
to  the  prince's  card-table,  which  was  set  out  a  few  paces 
from  the  throne.  When  she  saw  Fabrizio  thus  removed 
some  distance  from  her  she  breathed  more  freely. 

But  the  Marchese  Crescenzi  had  been  very  much  dis- 
turbed at  seeing  his  wife  banished  so  far  from  the  throne. 
He  spent  the  whole  evening  trying  to  persuade  a  lady  who 
was  sitting  three  chairs  from  the  princess,  and  whose  hus- 
band was  under  pecuniary  obligations  to  himself,  that  she 

498 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

had  better  change  places  with  the  marchesa.  The  poor 
lady  objected,  as  was  natural.  Then  he  went  and  fetched 
the  husband,  who  owed  him  money.  This  gentleman  made 
his  better-half  listen  to  the  dreary  voice  of  reason,  and  at 
last  the  marchese  had  the  pleasure  of  arranging  the  ex- 
change, and  went  to  fetch  his  wife.  "  You  are  always  far  too 
retiring,"  he  said.  "  Why  do  you  walk  about  with  your 
eyes  cast  down  ?  You  will  be  taken  for  one  of  these  middle- 
class  women  who  are  astonished  at  finding  themselves  here, 
and  whom  everybody  else  is  astounded  to  see.  That  crazy 
woman  the  mistress  of  the  robes  is  always  doing  that  sort  of 
thing.  And  then  they  talk  about  checking  the  progress  of 
Jacobinism !  Recollect  that  your  husband  holds  the  highest 
position  of  any  man  at  the  princess's  court.  And  supposing 
the  republicans  should  succeed  in  pulling  down  the  court, 
and  even  the  nobility,  your  husband  would  still  be  the  richest 
man  in  this  country.  That  is  a  notion  you  do  not  consider 
half  enough." 

The  chair  in  which  the  marchese  had  the  pleasure  of 
seating  his  wife  stood  not  more  than  six  paces  from  the 
prince's  card-table.  Clelia  could  only  see  Fabrizio's  profile, 
but  she  was  so  struck  by  his  thinness,  and  especially  by  his  air 
of  utter  indifference  to  anything  that  might  happen  to  him 
in  this  world — he,  who  in  old  days  had  his  word  to  say  about 
every  incident  that  occurred — that  she  ended  by  coming  to 
the  frightful  conclusion  that  Fabrizio  was  completely  altered, 
that  he  had  forgotten  her,  and  that  his  extreme  emaciation 
must  result  from  the  severe  fasting  his  piety  had  enjoined. 
Clelia  was  confirmed  in  this  sad  conviction  by  the  conversa- 
tion of  all  who  sat  near  her.  The  coadjutor's  name  was  on 
every  tongue ;  every  one  was  seeking  the  reason  of  the  spe- 
cial favour  which  had  been  shown  him.  How  was  it  that  he, 
young  as  he  was,  had  been  admitted  to  the  prince's  card- 
table?  A  g^eat  eflfect  was  produced  by  the  indifferent  po- 
liteness and  haughty  air  with  which  he  dealt  his  cards,  even 
when  he  cut  them  for  his  Highness. 

"  It  really  is  incredible,"  exclaimed  the  old  courtiers. 
"  The  favour  his  aunt  enjoys  has  quite  turned  his  head.  .  .  . 
But  Heaven  be  thanked,  that  will  not  last  long!    Our  sov- 

499 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ereign  does  not  like  people  who  assume  such  airs  of  supe- 
riority." The  duchess  went  up  to  the  prince,  and  the  cour- 
tiers, who  remained  at  a  respectful  distance  from  the  card- 
table,  so  that  they  could  only  catch  a  few  chance  words  of  the 
prince's  conversation,  noticed  that  Fabrizio  flushed  deeply. 
"  No  doubt,"  thought  they,  "  his  aunt  has  chidden  him  for 
his  fine  show  of  indifference."  Fabrizio  had  just  overheard 
Clelia's  voice ;  she  was  answering  the  princess,  who,  in  her 
progress  round  the  room,  had  addressed  a  few  words  to  the 
wife  of  her  lord  in  waiting.  At  last  the  moment  came  when 
Fabrizio  had  to  change  his  place  at  the  whist-table.  This 
brought  him  exactly  opposite  Clelia,  and  several  times  he 
gave  himself  up  to  the  delight  of  looking  at  her.  The  poor 
marchesa,  feeling  his  eyes  upon  her,  quite  lost  countenance. 
Several  times  she  forgot  what  she  owed  her  vow,  and  in 
her  longing  to  read  Fabrizio's  heart,  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon 
his  face. 

When  the  prince  had  finished  playing,  the  ladies  rose  to 
go  into  the  supper  room.  There  was  some  little  confusion, 
and  Fabrizio  found  himself  close  to  Clelia.  His  resolution 
was  still  strong,  but  he  happened  to  recognise  a  very  slight 
perfume  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  putting  in  her  dress, 
and  this  sensation  overmastered  all  his  determination.  He 
drew  near  her,  and  murmured,  in  an  undertone,  and  as  if  to 
himself,  two  lines  out  of  the  sonnet  from  Petrarch  which  he 
had  sent  her  printed  on  a  silken  handkerchief  from  the  Lago 
Maggiore.  "  How  great  was  my  happiness  when  the  outer 
world  thought  me  wretched!  and  now,  how  altered  is  my 
fate ! " 

"  No,  he  has  not  forgotten  me,"  thought  Clelia  in  a  pas- 
sion of  joy.    "  That  noble  heart  is  not  unfaithful." 

"  Non  !  vous  ne  me  verrez  jamais  changer 
Beaux  yeux,  qui  m'avez  appris  k  aimer  ! " 

She  ventured  to  say  these  two  lines  from  Petrarch  to  her- 
self. 

Immediately  after  supper  the  princess  retired.  The  prince 
had  followed  her  to  her  own  apartments,  and  did  not  reappear 
in  the  reception-room.    As  soon  as  this  news  spread,  every 

500 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

one  tried  to  go  away  at  once,  and  confusion  reigned  supreme 
in  all  the  anterooms.  Clelia  found  herself  quite  near  Fa- 
brizio.  The  deep  misery  of  his  expression  filled  her  with 
pity.  "  Let  us  forget  the  past,"  she  said,  "  and  keep  this  in 
memory  of  our  friendship."  As  she  said  the  word  she  put 
out  her  fan,  so  that  he  might  take  it. 

In  one  moment  everything  changed  to  Fabrizio's  eyes. 
He  was  another  man.  The  very  next  morning  he  announced 
that  his  retreat  was  at  an  end,  and  went  back  to  his  splendid 
rooms  in  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina. 

The  archbishop  said,  and  believed,  that  the  favour  the 
prince  had  shown  Fabrizio  by  summoning  him  to  his  card- 
table  had  turned  the  new-fledged  saint's  head.  The  duchess 
perceived  that  he  had  come  to  an  understanding  with  Clelia. 
That  thought,  which  increased  twofold  the  pain  of  the  mem- 
ory of  her  own  fatal  promise,  made  her  finally  resolve  to 
absent  herself  for  a  while.  People  were  astonished  at  her 
folly.  "  What !  Leave  court  at  the  very  moment  when  her 
favour  appeared  to  know  no  limits !  " 

The  count,  who  was  perfectly  happy  now  that  he  was 
satisfied  there  was  no  love  between  Fabrizio  and  the  duchess, 
said  to  his  friend :  "  This  new  prince  of  ours  is  the  very  in- 
carnation of  virtue,  but  I  once  called  him  '  that  child.'  Will 
he  never  forgive  me  ?  I  only  see  one  means  of  thoroughly 
regaining  my  credit  with  him,  and  that  is  by  absence.  I  will 
make  myself  perfectly  charming  and  respectful,  and  then  I 
will  fall  ill,  and  ask  leave  to  retire.  You  will  grant  me  per- 
mission to  do  so,  now  that  Fabrizio's  fortunes  are  assured. 
But,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh,  "  will  you  make  the  immense 
sacrifice  of  changing  the  high  and  mighty  title  of  duchess 
for  a  much  humbler  one,  for  my  sake?  I  am  entertaining 
myself  by  leaving  all  the  business  here  in  a  state  of  the  most 
inextricable  confusion.  I  had  four  or  five  hard-working 
men  in  my  various  ministries;  I  had  them  all  pensioned 
oflf,  two  months  ago,  because  they  read  the  French  news- 
papers, and  I  have  replaced  them  with  first-class  simple- 
tons." 

"  Once  we  are  gone,  the  prince  will  find  himself  in  such 
difl&culties  that,  in  spite  of  his  horror  of  Rassi's  character,  I 

501 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

have  no  doubt  he  will  be  obliged  to  recall  him,  and  I  only 
await  my  orders  from  the  tyrant  who  rules  my  fate  to  write 
the  most  affectionate  and  friendly  letter  to  my  friend  Rassi, 
and  tell  him  I  have  every  reason  to  hope  his  merits  will  soon 
be  properly  recognised." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

This  serious  conversation  took  place  the  day  after  Fa- 
brizio's  return  to  the  Palazzo  Sanseverina.  The  duchess  still 
felt  sore  at  the  sight  of  Fabrizio's  evident  happiness.  "  So," 
said  she  to  herself,  "  that  pious  little  minx  has  deceived  me ! 
She  has  not  been  able  to  hold  out  against  her  lover  for  even 
three  months." 

The  certain  expectation  of  happiness  had  given  that  cow- 
ardly being,  the  young  prince,  courage  to  love.  He  heard 
a  rumour  of  the  preparations  for  departure  at  the  Palazzo 
Sanseverina,  and  his  French  valet  de  chambre,  who  had  but 
scant  faith  in  any  fine  lady's  virtue,  inspired  him  with  cour- 
age as  to  the  duchess.  Ernest  V  ventured  on  a  step  that  was 
severely  blamed  by  the  princess,  and  by  all  sensible  people 
about  the  court.  In  the  eyes  of  the  populace,  it  set  the  seal 
on  the  astounding  favour  the  duchess  enjoyed.  The  prince 
went  to  see  her  in  her  palace. 

"  You  are  going !  "  said  he,  and  there  was  a  gfravity  about 
his  tone  which  made  it  hateful  to  the  duchess.  "  You  are 
going !  You  mean  to  deceive  me,  and  break  your  oath.  And 
yet,  if  I  had  delayed  ten  minutes  about  granting  you  Fa- 
brizio's pardon,  he  would  have  died !  And  you  would  leave 
me  behind  you  in  misery !  But  for  your  oaths  I  never  should 
have  dared  to  love  you  as  I  do.    Have  you  no  honour  ?  " 

"  Consider  well,  my  prince.  Have  you  ever  been  so 
happy,  all  your  life  long,  as  during  the  four  months  which 
have  just  gone  by?  Your  glory  as  a  sovereign,  and,  I  ven- 
ture to  think,  your  happiness  as  a  kind-hearted  man,  have 
never  reached  such  a  point  before.  This  is  the  arrangement 
I  propose  to  you.  If  you  condescend  to  accept  it,  I  will 
not  be  your  mistress  for  a  passing  moment,  and  in  virtue  of 

503 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

an  oath  extorted  from  me  by  fear,  but  I  will  devote  every 
instant  of  my  life  to  making  you  happy.  I  will  be  to  you, 
always,  what  I  have  been  for  the  last  four  months,  and  per- 
haps, some  day,  love  may  crown  friendship.  I  would  not  say 
that  might  never  be." 

"  Well,"  said  the  prince,  overjoyed,  "  be  something  else, 
and  something  more !  Rule  me  and  my  dominions,  both  at 
once.  Be  my  Prime  Minister.  I  offer  you  such  a  marriage 
as  the  necessities  of  my  rank  permit  me.  We  have  an  in- 
stance of  the  kind  quite  near  us — the  King  of  Naples  has  just 
married  the  Duchess  of  Partana.  I  oflfer  you  all  I  can — a 
marriage  of  the  same  kind.  I  will  add  a  piece  of  shabby 
policy,  to  convince  you  that  I  am  no  longer  a  child,  and  that 
I  have  thought  of  everything.  I  will  not  lay  stress  on  the 
position  I  thus  impose  on  myself,  of  being  the  last  sovereign 
of  my  race,  nor  on  the  grief  of  seeing  the  great  powers  dis- 
pose of  my  succession  during  my  lifetime.  I  hail  these  draw- 
backs— very  real  ones — as  a  blessing,  since  they  provide  me 
with  a  further  means  of  showing  you  my  regard  and  pas- 
sionate devotion." 

The  duchess  did  not  feel  a  moment's  hesitation.  The 
prince  bored  her,  and  she  thought  the  count  perfectly  charm- 
ing. There  was  only  one  man  in  the  world  whom  she  could 
have  preferred  to  him.  And  besides  that,  she  ruled  the 
count,  and  the  prince,  as  the  natural  outcome  of  his  rank, 
would  more  or  less  have  ruled  her.  Finally,  he  might  grow 
inconstant  and  take  mistresses.  Before  many  years  were 
out,  their  difference  of  age  would  almost  appear  to  give  him 
a  right  to  do  so. 

From  the  very  first,  the  prospect  of  being  bored  had  set- 
tled the  whole  question.  Nevertheless  the  duchess,  in  her 
desire  to  be  charming,  asked  to  be  allowed  to  think  it 
over. 

Space  will  not  permit  me  to  repeat  the  almost  tender  ex- 
pressions, and  the  infinitely  gracious  terms,  in  which  she 
wrapped  her  refusal.  The  prince  got  into  a  rage;  he  saw 
all  his  happiness  slipping  through  his  fingers.  What  was  he 
to  do  with  himself  after  the  duchess  had  left  his  court  ?  And 
then  there  was  the  humiliation  of  being  rebuffed;  and  be- 

504 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

sides,  "  What  will  my  French  servant  say  when  I  tell  him  I 
have  failed." 

The  duchess  was  artful  enough  to  calm  the  prince,  and 
little  by  little,  to  bring  the  negotiation  back  to  its  proper 
limits. 

"  If  your  Highness  will  only  consent  not  to  insist  on  the 
result  of  a  fatal  promise,  which  fills  me  with  horror,  because 
it  makes  me  despise  myself,  I  will  spend  my  whole  life  at 
your  court,  and  that  court  shall  always  be  what  it  has  been 
this  winter.  Every  instant  of  my  life  shall  be  devoted  to  in- 
creasing your  happiness  as  a  man,  and  your  glory  as  a  sover- 
eign. But  if  your  Highness  insists  on  my  keeping  my  oath, 
you  will  have  blighted  the  rest  of  my  life,  and  you  will  see 
me  depart  from  your  dominions  that  instant,  never  to  re- 
turn. The  day  on  which  I  lose  my  honour  will  be  the  last 
day  on  which  I  shall  ever  look  upon  you." 

But,  like  all  pusillanimous  men,  the  prince  was  obstinate ; 
and  besides,  her  refusal  of  his  hand  had  stung  his  pride  as 
a  man  and  as  a  sovereign.  He  thought  of  all  the  difficulties 
he  would  have  had  to  surmount  to  insure  the  acceptance  of 
this  marriage,  and  which,  nevertheless,  he  had  been  resolved 
to  overcome.  For  three  hours  the  same  arguments  were  re- 
peated on  each  side,  and  frequently  interlarded  with  very 
bitter  expressions.  The  prince  exclaimed :  "  Do  you  then 
want  to  make  me  believe,  madam,  that  you  have  no  honour  ? 
If  I  had  hesitated  as  long  that  day,  when  General  Fabio 
Conti  was  poisoning  Fabrizio,  you  would  be  building  his 
tomb  now  in  some  church  in  Parma." 

"  No,  not  in  Parma  indeed — a  country  of  poisoners !  " 

"  Very  well,  madam,"  retorted  the  prince  angrily.  "  You 
can  depart  and  take  my  scorn  with  you." 

As  he  was  going  out  the  duchess  said  in  a  low  tone: 
"  Well,  sire,  come  here  at  ten  o'clock  to-night,  in  the  most 
absolute  incognito,  and  you  will  make  a  fool's  bargain.  You 
will  see  me  for  the  last  time  in  your  life — and  I  would  have 
devoted  the  whole  of  mine  to  making  you  as  happy  as  an  ab- 
solute sovereign  can  be,  in  this  Jacobin  century.  And  pray 
consider  what  your  court  will  be  like  when  I  am  no  longer 
there  to  drag  it  out  of  its  natural  dulness  and  spitefulness !  " 

505 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  On  your  part,  you  refuse  the  crown  of  Parma,  and 
something  better  than  a  crown.  For  you  would  not  have 
been  an  every-day  princess,  married  out  of  policy,  and  with- 
out love.  My  heart  is  wholly  yours,  and  you  would  have 
been  absolute  mistress  of  my  actions,  and  of  my  govern- 
ment, forever." 

"  Yes,  but  the  princess,  your  mother,  would  have  had 
the  right  to  despise  me  as  a  vile  schemer." 

"  Pooh !  I  would  have  given  the  princess  an  income, 
and  banished  her." 

Three  quarters  of  an  hour  were  spent  in  sharp  rejoinders. 
The  prince,  who  was  a  fastidious-minded  man,  could  neither 
make  up  his  mind  to  insist  on  his  rights,  nor  to  allow  the 
duchess  to  depart.  He  had  been  told  that  once  the  first 
victory  was  won,  no  matter  how,  women  always  came 
round. 

Dismissed  in  anger  by  the  offended  duchess,  he  ventured 
to  reappear,  trembling  and  very  miserable,  at  three  minutes 
before  ten  o'clock.  At  half  past  ten  the  duchess  got  into  her 
carriage  and  started  for  Bologna.  As  soon  as  she  was  be- 
yond the  boundary  of  the  prince's  dominions  she  wrote  to 
the  count: 

"  The  sacrifice  is  accomplished.  Do  not  expect  me  to  be 
cheerful  for  a  month.  I  shall  never  see  Fabrizio  again.  I 
am  waiting  for  you  at  Bologna,  and  I  will  be  the  Countess 
Mosca  whenever  you  choose.  One  thing,  only,  I  ask  of 
you :  never  force  me  to  reappear  in  the  country  I  am  now 
leaving;  and  remember  always  that  instead  of  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year,  you  are  going  to  have  thirty 
or  forty  thousand  at  the  outside.  All  the  fools  about  you 
have  stared  at  you  open-mouthed,  and  now  your  whole  repu- 
tation will  depend  upon  how  far  you  choose  to  condescend 
to  understand  their  small  ideas — *  Tu  I'as  voulu,  Georges 
Dandin! ' " 

A  week  later,  the  marriage  took  place  at  Perugia,  in  a 
church  which  contains  the  tombs  of  the  count's  ancestors. 
The  prince  was  in  despair.  He  had  sent  the  duchess  three 
or  four  couriers,  and  she  had  carefully  sent  him  back  en- 
velopes which  covered  his  letters,  with  the  seals  unbroken. 

506 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Ernest  V  had  conferred  a  splendid  income  on  the  count,  and 
had  given  Fabrizio  the  ribbon  of  his  Order. 

"  That  was  what  pleased  me  most  about  our  farewells," 
said  the  count  to  the  new  Countess  Mosca  della  Rovere. 
"  We  parted  the  best  friends  in  the  world.  He  gave  me  a 
Spanish  Order,  and  diamonds  which  are  worth  quite  as  much 
as  the  Order.  He  told  me  he  would  make  me  a  duke,  only 
that  he  wanted  to  keep  that  method  of  drawing  you  back  to 
his  dominions  in  his  own  hands;  consequently  I  am  com- 
missioned to  inform  you  (and  it  is  a  fine  mission  for  a  hus- 
band !)  that  if  you  will  condescend  to  return  to  Parma,  even 
for  a  month,  I  shall  be  made  a  duke,  with  any  title  you 
choose,  and  you  will  be  given  a  fine  property." 

All  this  the  duchess  refused  with  a  sort  of  horror. 

After  that  scene  at  the  court  ball,  tolerably  decisive  as  it 
had  appeared,  Clelia  betrayed  no  recollection  of  the  love  she 
had  momentarily  seemed  to  share.  The  most  vehement  re- 
morse had  surged  over  that  virtuous  and  pious  nature.  Fa- 
brizio understood  this  very  well,  and  in  spite  of  all  the  hope 
he  tried  to  feel,  a  gloomy  sadness  overcame  his  soul.  This 
time,  however,  his  misery  did  not  force  him  into  retirement, 
as  at  the  period  of  Clelia's  marriage. 

The  count  had  begged  his  nephew  to  keep  him  exactly 
informed  of  everything  that  happened  at  court,  and  Fabrizio, 
who  was  beginning  to  realize  all  he  owed  him,  had  resolved 
to  fulfil  this  mission  faithfully.  Like  every  one  in  the  city 
and  at  court,  Fabrizio  had  no  doubt  that  his  friend  nursed 
the  project  of  returning  to  the  ministry,  and  wielding  greater 
power  than  he  had  ever  held  before.  The  count's  forecasts 
were  soon  verified.  Within  six  weeks  of  his  departure,  Rassi 
was  Prime  Minister.  Fabio  Conti  was  appointed  Minister  of 
War,  and  the  prisons,  which  the  count  had  well-nigh  emp- 
tied, began  to  fill  again.  When  the  prince  summoned  these 
men  to  power  he  fancied  he  would  thereby  avenge  himself 
on  the  duchess.  He  was  crazed  by  passion,  and  he  hated 
Mosca  as  his  rival. 

Fabrizio  had  a  great  deal  on  his  hands.  Archbishop  Lan- 
driani,  now  seventy-two  years  old,  had  fallen  into  a  very 
weak  condition,  and  hardly  ever  went  beyond  his  palace 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma        - 

doors.  His  coadjutor  was  obliged  to  represent  him  on 
almost  every  occasion. 

The  Marchesa  Crescenzi,  overwhelmed  by  remorse,  and 
terrified  by  what  her  religious  director  said  to  her,  had  hit 
upon  an  excellent  plan  for  keeping  out  of  Fabrizio's  sight. 
On  the  plea  that  her  first  confinement  was  approaching,  she 
had  shut  herself  up  within  her  own  palace ;  but  to  this  palace 
a  huge  garden  was  attached. 

To  this  garden  Fabrizio  contrived  to  find  access,  and 
along  Clelia's  favourite  walk  he  placed  nosegays  of  flowers, 
arranged  in  an  order  which  constituted  a  language,  like 
those  she  had  sent  him  every  evening  during  the  last  days 
of  his  imprisonment  in  the  Farnese  Tower. 

This  attempt  caused  the  marchesa  great  annoyance.  Her 
heart  throbbed,  sometimes  with  remorse,  and  then  again 
with  passion.  For  several  months  she  would  not  go  into  the 
palace  garden  at  all ;  she  even  scrupled  to  cast  a  glance  in 
that  direction. 

Fabrizio  began  to  believe  he  was  parted  from  her  forever, 
and  despair  was  taking  possession  of  his  soul.  The  society 
in  which  he  spent  his  life  was  hateful  to  him,  and  if  he  had 
not  been  convinced  in  his  heart  that  the  count  would  never 
find  peace  of  mind  out  of  office,  he  would  have  retired  to 
his  little  rooms  in  the  archiepiscopal  palace.  It  would  have 
been  a  comfort  to  him  to  live  alone  with  his  thoughts,  and 
never  to  hear  a  human  voice  except  when  he  was  performing 
his  ecclesiastical  functions.  "  But,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  no 
one  but  I  can  serve  the  interests  of  Count  and  Countess 
Mosca." 

The  prince  still  treated  him  with  a  respect  which  insured 
him  the  foremost  rank  at  court,  and  this  favour  was  largely 
owing  to  his  own  behaviour.  Fabrizio's  extreme  reserve, 
the  result  of  an  indifference  to  all  the  affections  and 
petty  passions  that  fill  the  lives  of  ordinary  men,  which 
amounted  to  positive  disgtist,  had  piqued  the  young  prince's 
vanity.  He  would  often  remark  that  Fabrizio  was  as  clever 
as  his  aunt.  The  prince's  candid  nature  had  realized  half  the 
truth,  that  no  one  else  about  him  possessed  the  same  meth- 
ods of  feeling  as  Fabrizio.    A  fact  which  could  escape  no 

508 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

one,  not  even  the  most  ordinary  courtier,  was  that  Fabrizio's 
credit  was  by  no  means  that  of  an  ordinary  coadjutor,  but 
even  exceeded  the  consideration  displayed  by  the  sovereign 
for  the  archbishop.  Fabrizio  wrote  word  to  the  count  that 
if  ever  the  prince  should  be  clever  enough  to  perceive  the 
muddle  into  which  such  ministers  as  Rassi,  Fabio  Conti, 
Zurla,  and  others  of  the  same  calibre  had  brought  his  affairs, 
he,  Fabrizio,  would  be  the  natural  channel  whereby  the 
sovereign  might  make  some  friendly  demonstration,  without 
too  great  a  risk  to  his  own  vanity. 

"  But  for  the  recollection  of  the  fatal  words,  *  that  child,'  " 
he  wrote  to  Countess  Mosca,  "  applied  by  a  man  of  genius 
to  an  august  personage,  that  august  personage  would  already 
have  exclaimed  '  Come  back  at  once,  and  rid  me  of  all  these 
vagabonds.'  Even  now,  if  the  wife  of  the  man  of  genius 
would  condescend  to  any  step,  even  the  slightest,  the  count 
would  be  recalled  with  the  greatest  joy.  But  if  he  will  wait 
till  the  fruit  is  thoroughly  ripe  he  will  return  in  far  more 
brilliant  fashion.  And  indeed,  the  princess's  receptions  have 
grown  deadly  dull ;  the  only  amusement  they  afford  consists 
in  the  ridiculous  behaviour  of  Rassi,  who,  now  he  is  a  count, 
has  developed  a  mania  for  noble  birth.  Strict  orders  have 
just  been  issued  that  no  person  who  can  not  prove  eight 
quarterings  of  noble  descent  is  to  dare  to  appear  at  the 
princess's  evening  receptions.  These  are  the  exact  terms 
of  the  edict.  The  men  who  have  hitherto  had  the  right  to 
go  into  the  great  gallery  in  the  morning,  and  be  present  when 
the  sovereign  passes  through  to  mass,  are  to  continue  in 
the  enjoyment  of  this  privilege.  But  all  new  arrivals  will 
have  to  prove  their  eight  quarterings.  A  propos  of  which 
somebody  said,  '  It's  very  clear  that  Rassi  knows  no  quar- 
ter/ " 

My  readers  will  readily  imagine  that  such  letters  as  these 
were  not  confided  to  the  ordinary  post.  Countess  Mosca 
wrote  back  from  Naples :  "  We  have  a  concert  every  Thurs- 
day, and  a  party  every  Sunday.  Our  rooms  are  absolutely 
crowded.  The  count  is  delighted  with  his  excavations;  he 
sets  apart  a  thousand  francs  a  month  for  them,  and  has  just 
brought  down  labourers  from  the  mountains  of  the  Abruzzi, 

509 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

who  only  cost  him  twenty-three  sous  a  day.  You  really 
ought  to  come  and  see  us.  This  is  more  than  the  twentieth 
time  that  I  have  summoned  you,  ungrateful  boy !  " 

Fabrizio  had  no  intention  of  obeying  the  summons. 
Even  his  daily  letter  to  the  count  or  countess  was  an  almost 
unendurable  weariness  to  him.  My  readers  will  forgive  him 
when  they  learn  that  a  whole  year  had  thus  passed  away 
without  his  being  able  to  address  a  single  word  to  the  mar- 
chesa.  All  his  attempts  to  enter  into  some  kind  of  corre- 
spondence with  her  were  repulsed  with  horror.  The  ha- 
bitual silence  which,  out  of  sheer  weariness  of  life,  Fabrizio 
kept  everywhere,  except  at  court,  and  when  performing  his 
religious  functions,  added  to  the  perfect  purity  of  his  morals, 
had  won  him  such  extraordinary  veneration  that  he  made 
up  his  mind,  at  last,  to  follow  his  aunt's  advice. 

"  The  prince,"  she  wrote,  "  venerates  you  so  deeply  that 
you  must  expect  to  fall  into  disgrace  shortly.  Then  he  will 
shower  marks  of  neglect  upon  you,  and  the  vile  scorn  of 
the  courtiers  will  follow  on  his.  All  these  small  despots, 
however  honest-hearted  they  may  be,  change  like  the  fash- 
ions, and  on  the  same  account — out  of  boredom.  The  only 
way  in  which  you  can  insure  yourself  support  against  the 
sovereign's  whims  is  by  preaching.  You  improvise  poetry 
so  well !  Try  to  talk,  for  half  an  hour,  about  religion !  You 
will  talk  heresy  at  first,  but  pay  a  learned  and  discreet  theo- 
logian to  listen  to  your  sermons,  and  point  out  their  faults 
to  you,  and  the  next  time  you  preach  you  can  correct  them." 

The  misery  of  mind  engendered  by  a  crossed  love  makes 
any  effort  requiring  attention  and  activity  an  odious  burden. 
But  Fabrizio  reminded  himself  that  his  influence  over  the 
populace,  if  he  acquired  any,  might  some  day  be  useful  to 
his  aunt  and  to  the  count,  for  whom  his  admiration  daily  in- 
creased, in  proportion  to  his  own  knowledge  of  life  and  the 
wickedness  of  men.  So  he  made  up  his  mind  to  preach, 
and  his  success,  the  way  to  which  had  been  prepared  by  his 
emaciation  and  his  threadbare  coat,  was  unexampled.  His 
sermons  breathed  a  deep  sadness,  which,  combined  with  his 
handsome  face,  and  the  stories  of  the  high  favour  in  which 
he  stood  at  court,  conquered  every  woman's  heart.     The 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ladies  discovered  that  he  had  been  one  of  the  bravest  cap- 
tains in  Napoleon's  army,  and  before  long,  this  ridiculous 
story  was  absolutely  believed.  The  seats  in  the  churches 
in  which  he  was  to  preach  were  kept  beforehand ;  the  poorer 
folk  would  take  possession  of  them  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  turn  money  by  the  speculation. 

So  great  was  Fabrizio's  success,  that  at  last  an  idea  which 
changed  his  every  feeling  flashed  across  his  brain.  Might 
not  the  Marchesa  Crescenzi  come  some  day,  were  it  out 
of  mere  curiosity,  to  hear  him  preach?  And  of  a  sudden 
the  delighted  public  perceived  that  his  eloquence  increased 
twofold.  In  moments  of  excitement  he  ventured  on  word- 
pictures,  the  boldness  of  which  would  have  made  the  most 
practised  orators  tremble.  Occasionally,  quite  forgetting 
himself,  he  would  be  swept  away  by  a  wave  of  passionate 
inspiration,  and  the  whole  of  his  audience  would  be  melted 
into  tears,  but  in  vain  did  his  aggrottato  *  eye  scan  every  face 
turned  toward  the  pulpit,  in  search  of  that  one  being  whose 
presence  would  have  meant  so  much  to  him. 

"  But  if  ever  that  happiness  does  come  to  me,"  he 
thought,  "  I  shall  either  faint  away,  or  I  shall  stop  dead  short 
in  my  discourse."  To  protect  himself  from  this  last  diffi- 
culty, he  composed  a  sort  of  tender  and  passionate  prayer, 
which  he  always  laid  on  a  stool  in  his  pulpit.  His  intention 
was  to  begin  to  read  this  composition  if  the  marchesa's 
presence  should  ever  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  impro- 
vise a  word. 

One  day  he  heard,  through  those  of  the  marchesa's  serv- 
ants who  were  in  his  pay,  that  orders  had  been  given  to 
make  the  box  belonging  to  the  Casa  Crescenzi,  at  the  prin- 
cipal theatre,  ready  for  the  next  evening.  It  was  more  than 
a  year  since  the  marchesa  had  appeared  in  any  theatre,  and 
she  was  breaking  her  habit  now,  in  order  to  hear  a  tenor 
who  had  created  a  furore,  and  crammed  the  building  every 
evening.  Fabrizio's  first  feeling  was  one  of  the  greatest 
joy.  "  At  last  I  shall  be  able  to  look  at  her  for  a  whole 
evening.     They  say  she  has  g^own  very  pale."     And  he 

'  Raised  ia  a  frown  from  intensity  of  search. 

5" 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

tried  to  fancy  how  that  lovely  head  must  look,  with  all  its 
tints  dulled  by  the  struggle  that  had  passed  within  its 
owner's  soul.  His  faithful  Ludovico,  quite  alarmed  by  what 
he  called  his  master's  madness,  secured,  though  with  much 
difficulty,  a  box  on  the  fourth  tier,  almost  opposite  the  mar- 
chesa's.  An  idea  occurred  to  Fabrizio.  "  I  hope  I  may  put 
it  into  her  head  to  come  and  listen  to  my  sermon,  and  I  will 
choose  a  very  small  church,  so  that  I  may  be  able  to  see  her 
well."  Fabrizio  usually  preached  at  three  o'clock.  Early 
in  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the  marchesa  was  to 
go  to  the  theatre  he  announced  that  as  some  duty  connected 
with  his  office  would  keep  him  at  the  archiepiscopal  palace 
the  whole  day  long,  he  would  preach,  as  an  exception,  at 
half  past  eight,  that  night,  in  the  little  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
della  Visitazione,  which  stood  just  opposite  one  of  the  wings 
of  the  Palazzo  Crescenzi.  He  sent  Ludovico  to  the  Nuns 
of  the  Visitation  with  an  enormous  quantity  of  tapers,  and 
begged  them  to  light  their  church  up  brilliantly.  He  ob- 
tained a  whole  company  of  grenadiers  of  the  guard,  and  a 
sentry,  with  fixed  bayonet,  was  set  on  each  chapel,  to  prevent 
any  thieving.  His  sermon  was  not  to  begin  until  half  past 
eight,  but  at  two  o'clock  in  the  day  the  church  was  com- 
pletely filled.  My  readers  will  conceive  what  a  stir  there 
was  in  the  usually  quiet  street  overlooked  by  the  noble  out- 
lines of  the  Palazzo  Crescenzi.  Fabrizio  had  given  out  that, 
in  honour  of  Our  Lady  of  Pity,  his  subject  would  be  the  pity 
which  a  generous  heart  should  feel  for  a  person  in  misfor- 
tune, even  if  that  person  be  a  guilty  one. 

Disguised  with  every  possible  care,  Fabrizio  entered  his 
box  at  the  theatre  as  soon  as  the  doors  were  opened,  and 
before  it  was  lighted  up.  Toward  eight  o'clock  the  perform- 
ance began,  and  a  few  minutes  afterward  he  experienced  a 
joy  which  no  one  who  has  not  felt  it  can  conceive.  He  saw 
the  door  of  the  Crescenzi  box  open,  and  very  soon  the  mar- 
chesa entered  it.  He  had  not  obtained  such  a  good  view 
of  her  since  the  day  when  she  had  given  him  her  fan.  Fa- 
brizio thought  he  would  have  choked  with  joy.  His  sensa- 
tions were  so  extraordinary  that  he  said  to  himself :  "  Per- 
haps I  am  going  to  die.    What  a  blessed  ending  to  my  sad 

512 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

life !  Perhaps  I  shall  fall  down  in  this  box.  The  good  people 
waiting  for  me  in  the  Church  of  the  Visitation  will  wait  in 
vain,  and  to-morrow  they  will  hear  their  future  archbishop 
has  been  found  in  an  opera  box,  disguised  as  a  servant,  and 
dressed  in  livery.  Farewell,  then,  to  all  my  reputation! 
And  what  care  I  for  my  reputation  ?  " 

However,  toward  a  quarter  to  nine  Fabrizio  made  a  great 
effort,  and  leaving  his  box  on  the  fourth  tier,  he  proceeded 
on  foot,  and  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  to  the  place  where 
he  was  to  change  his  undress  livery  for  more  appropriate 
habiliments.  He  did  not  reach  the  Church  of  the  Visitation 
till  near  nine  o'clock,  and  then,  so  white  and  weak  did  he 
appear,  that  a  report  spread  through  the  church  that  the  co- 
adjutor would  not  be  able  to  preach  that  night.  My  readers 
will  imagine  all  the  attentions  that  were  lavished  on  him  by 
the  nuns,  through  the  grating  of  their  inner  parlour,  in  which 
he  had  taken  refuge.  The  good  ladies  talked  a  great  deal. 
Fabrizio  asked  them  to  leave  him  alone  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  he  hurried  off  to  his  pulpit.  One  of  his  faithful  ad- 
herents had  told  him,  about  three  o'clock,  that  the  church 
was  quite  full,  but  full  of  people  of  the  lowest  class,  appar- 
ently attracted  by  the  sight  of  the  lighted  tapers.  When  Fa- 
brizio entered  the  pulpit  he  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find 
all  the  chairs  occupied  by  young  people  of  fashion,  and  older 
ones  holding  the  most  important  positions  in  the  city.  He 
began  his  sermon  with  a  few  apologetic  sentences,  which 
were  received  with  suppressed  exclamations  of  admiration. 
Then  came  a  passionate  description  of  the  unhappy  being 
whom  all  men  must  pity  if  they  would  worthily  honour  the 
Madonna  of  Pity,  who  herself  suffered  so  sorely  upon  earth. 
The  orator  was  very  much  agitated ;  at  times  he  could  hardly 
speak  so  as  to  make  himself  heard  in  the  far  corners  of  the 
little  church.  In  the  eyes  of  all  the  women,  and  many  of  the 
men,  his  own  excessive  pallor  made  him  look  like  the  un- 
happy being  they  were  called  upon  to  pity.  A  very  few 
minutes  after  the  words  of  excuse  with  which  his  sermon 
opened,  his  audience  perceived  that  he  was  not  in  his  ordinary 
condition.  His  sadness,  that  evening,  was  deeper  and  more 
tender  than  it  generally  was;  at  one  moment  tears  were 

513 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

visible  in  his  eyes,  and  the  whole  audience  broke  into  a 
sob,  so  loud  that  it  quite  interrupted  his  discourse. 

This  first  interruption  was  followed  by  half  a  score. 
There  were  cries  of  admiration,  bursts  of  tears,  and  inces- 
sant exclamations,  such  as  "  O  Holy  Madonna !  "  "  O 
great  God !  "  So  general  and  so  inexpressible  was  the  emo- 
tion of  this  select  audience,  that  nobody  was  ashamed  to 
cry  out,  and  the  people  who  did  so  were  not  considered 
ridiculous  by  their  neighbours. 

During  the  rest  which  is  usually  taken  in  the  middle  of 
a  sermon,  Fabrizio  was  told  that  not  a  soul  remained  in  the 
theatre.  Only  one  lady,  the  Marchesa  Crescenzi,  was  still 
in  her  box.  During  this  interval  of  rest,  a  great  noise  sud- 
denly rose  in  the  building;  the  faithful  were  voting  a  statue 
to  the  coadjutor.  The  reception  of  the  later  half  of  his  dis- 
course was  so  extraordinary,  and  unrestrained  outbursts  of 
Christian  repentance  were  so  frequently  replaced  by  ex- 
clamations of  admiration  which  were  utterly  profane,  that 
before  he  left  the  pulpit  he  felt  himself  obliged  to  address  a 
sort  of  reprimand  to  his  auditors.  Whereupon  every  one 
walked  out  of  the  church  in  a  sedate  and  formal  manner,  and, 
once  the  street  was  reached,  indulged  in  an  outburst  of  fer- 
vent applause,  and  shouts  of  "  Evviva  del  Dongo !  " 

Fabrizio  hastily  looked  at  his  watch,  and  rushed  to  a  little 
grated  window  which  lighted  the  narrow  passage  from  the 
organ  to  the  convent.  As  a  civility  to  the  incredible  and 
unusual  crowd  which  filled  the  street,  the  porter  of  the 
Palazzo  Crescenzi  had  garnished  the  iron  hands  which  we 
often  see  projecting  from  the  walls  of  palaces  built  in  the 
middle  ages,  with  a  dozen  torches.  After  a  few  moments, 
and  long  before  the  shouting  had  ceased,  the  event  which 
Fabrizio  was  awaiting  with  so  much  anxiety  occurred — the 
marchesa's  carriage,  bringing  her  back  from  the  theatre, 
appeared  in  the  street.  The  coachman  was  obliged  to  pull 
up,  and  it  was  only  at  a  foot's  pace  and  by  dint  of  much 
shouting  that  he  was  able  to  bring  the  vehicle  to  the  door. 

The  marchesa's  heart,  like  that  of  any  person  in  sorrow, 
had  been  touched  by  the  noble  music.  But  the  utter  soli- 
tude of  the  theatre,  once  she  had  learned  its  cause,  had 

514 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

aflfected  her  far  more.  In  the  middle  of  the  second  act,  and 
while  the  splendid  tenor  was  on  the  stage,  even  the  people 
in  the  pit  had  suddenly  left  their  seats  to  go  and  try  their 
chance  of  getting  inside  the  Church  of  the  Visitation.  When 
the  crowd  stopped  the  marchesa  before  she  could  get  to  her 
own  door,  she  broke  into  tears.  "  I  had  not  chosen  ill !  "  said 
she  to  herself. 

But  just  on  account  of  this  moment  of  emotion,  she 
steadily  repulsed  the  suggestions  of  the  marchese,  and  all 
the  habitues  of  the  house,  who  could  not  conceive  why  she 
did  not  go  to  hear  such  an  astonishing  preacher.  "  Why," 
they  cried,  "  he  triumphs  over  the  finest  tenor  in  Italy ! " 

"  If  I  once  see  him  I  am  lost ! "  said  the  marchesa  to 
herself. 

In  vain  did  Fabrizio,  whose  powers  seemed  to  grow 
more  brilliant  every  day,  preach  again,  several  times  over,  in 
the  little  church  near  the  Palazzo  Crescenzi.  He  never  be- 
held Clelia,  who,  indeed,  ended  by  being  seriously  vexed,  at 
last,  by  his  affectation  in  coming  to  disturb  her  quiet  street, 
after  having  driven  her  out  of  her  garden. 

Fabrizio,  as  his  eyes  ran  over  the  faces  of  the  women 
listening  to  him,  had  for  some  time  noticed  a  very  pretty 
dark-complexioned  countenance,  and  a  pair  of  eyes  that 
blazed.  These  splendid  eyes  were  generally  swimming  in 
tears  by  the  time  he  had  reached  the  eighth  or  tenth  sen- 
tence in  his  sermon.  When  Fabrizio  was  obliged  to  say 
things  that  were  lengthy  and  wearisome  to  himself,  he  was 
rather  fond  of  looking  at  this  pretty  head,  the  youth  of 
which  attracted  him.  He  found  out  that  the  young  lady  was 
called  Annetta  Marini,  the  only  child  and  heiress  of  the 
richest  clothier  in  Parma,  who  had  died  some  months  pre- 
viously. 

Soon  the  name  of  Annetta  Marini  was  on  every  one's 
lips.  She  had  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  Fabrizio. 
When  these  wonderful  sermons  had  begun,  it  had  been 
already  settled  that  she  was  to  marry  Giacomo  Rassi,  the 
eldest  son  of  the  Minister  of  Justice,  a  young  man  who  had 
appeared  by  no  means  displeasing  to  her.  But  when  she  had 
heard  Monsignore  Fabrizio  preach  twice,  she  vowed  she 

515 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

would  not  marry  at  all,  and  when  she  was  asked  the  reason 
of  this  strange  alteration,  she  replied  that  it  was  not  worthy 
of  any  honest  girl  to  marry  one  man  when  she  felt  she  was 
desperately  in  love  with  another.  At  first  her  family  vainly 
sought  to  discover  who  that  other  might  be. 

But  the  scalding  tears  Annetta  shed  during  Fabrizio's 
sermons  put  them  on  the  track.  When  her  mother  and 
uncles  asked  her  whether  she  loved  Monsignore  Fabrizio, 
she  answered  boldly,  that,  as  the  truth  had  been  found  out, 
she  would  not  soil  herself  by  telling  a  lie.  She  added  that  as 
she  had  no  hope  of  marrying  the  man  she  adored,  she  was 
at  all  events  resolved  her  eyes  should  no  longer  be  oflfended 
by  the  sight  of  young  Count  Rassi's  ridiculous  figure. 
Within  two  days  the  scorn  thus  cast  on  the  son  of  a  man 
who  was  the  envy  of  the  entire  middle  class  was  the  talk  of 
the  whole  town.  Annetta  Marini's  answer  was  reckoned 
delightful,  and  every  soul  repeated  it..  It  was  talked  of  at  the 
Palazzo  Crescenzi,  as  everywhere  else. 

Clelia  took  good  care  never  to  open  her  lips  on  such  a 
subject  in  her  drawing-room.  But  she  questioned  her  wait- 
ing-woman, and  on  the  following  Sunday,  after  she  had  heard 
mass  in  the  chapel  within  her  palace,  she  took  her  waiting- 
woman  with  her  in  her  carriage,  and  went  to  a  second  mass 
in  the  Signorina  Marini's  parish  church.  Here  she  found 
all  the  fine  gentlemen  in  the  town,  attracted  by  the  same 
object.  They  were  standing  round  the  door.  Soon  a  great 
stir  among  them  convinced  the  marchesa  that  Signorina 
Marini  was  entering  the  church.  From  the  place  she  occu- 
pied she  could  see  her  very  well,  and,  pious  though  she  was, 
she  did  not  pay  very  much  attention  to  the  mass.  Clelia 
thought  this  middle-class  beauty  wore  a  resolute  look,  which 
to  her  mind  would  only  have  been  appropriate  in  a  mar- 
ried woman  of  several  years'  standing.  Otherwise  her 
figure  and  waist  were  admirably  neat ;  and  her  eyes,  as  they 
say  in  Lombardy,  seemed  to  hold  conversations  with  every- 
thing they  looked  at. 

Before  mass  was  over  the  marchesa  slipped  out. 

The  very  next  day  the  habitues  of  the  Palazzo  Crescenzi, 
who  came  there  every  evening,  were  retailing  another  story 

516 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

of  Annetta  Marini's  absurdities.  As  her  mother,  fearing  she 
might  do  something  foolish,  kept  her  very  short  of  money, 
Annetta  had  gone  to  see  the  famous  painter  Hayez,  who  was 
then  at  Parma,  decorating  the  drawing-room  of  the  Palazzo 
Crescenzi,  and  had  offered  him  a  magnificent  diamond  ring 
given  her  by  her  father  if  he  would  paint  her  Monsignore  del 
Dongo's  picture.  But  she  desired  the  monsignore  might 
be  represented  in  ordinary  black,  and  not  in  priestly  garb. 
Consequently,  on  the  previous  evening,  the  fair  Annetta's 
mother  had  been  greatly  surprised  and  sorely  scandalized  at 
discovering  a  splendid  picture  of  Fabrizio  del  Dongo,  in  the 
finest  gold  frame  that  had  been  gilded  at  Parma  for  the  last 
twenty  years,  in  her  daughter's  chamber. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

So  rapidly  have  events  followed  one  on  the  other,  that 
we  have  had  no  time  to  give  any  sketch  of  the  comical  race 
of  courtiers  that  swarmed  at  the  Parmesan  court,  and  in- 
dulged in  the  strangest  comments  on  the  incidents  we  have 
been  relating.  In  that  country,  the  qualifications  necessary 
to  enable  some  small  sprig  of  nobility,  with  his  yearly  in- 
come of  two  or  three  thousand  francs,  to  figure  in  black 
stockings  at  the  prince's  levers  was,  first  and  foremost,  that 
he  never  should  have  read  Rousseau  or  Voltaire ;  this  condi- 
tion is  not  difficult  of  fulfilment.  In  the  second  place,  it  was 
essential  to  be  able  to  refer  with  emotion  to  the  sovereign's 
cold,  or  to  the  last  case  of  mineralogical  specimens  sent  him 
from  Saxony.  If,  besides  all  this,  our  gentleman  religiously 
attended  mass  every  day  of  his  life,  and  if  he  could  reckon 
two  or  three  fat  monks  among  his  intimate  friends,  the 
prince  would  condescend  to  speak  to  him  once  in  every  year, 
either  a  fortnight  before,  or  a  fortnight  after,  the  first  of 
January.  This  endowed  the  person  so  honoured  with  great 
importance  in  his  own  parish,  and  the  tax-collector  dared 
not  worry  him  overmuch,  if  he  should  happen  to  fall  into 
arrears  with  the  annual  tax  of  one  hundred  francs  imposed 
on  his  modest  property. 

Signor  Gonzo  was  a  sorry  wight  of  this  description,  an 
individual  of  very  noble  birth,  and  who,  besides  his  own  small 
fortune,  held^  thanks  to  the  credit  of  the  Marchese  Cres- 
cenzi,  a  magnificent  post  which  brought  him  in  the  princely 
sum  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs  a  year.  This  gentleman 
might  have  dined  at  home  if  he  had  chosen.  But  he  had  a 
mania.  He  was  never  happy  and  easy  in  his  mind  unless  he 
was  sitting  in  the  room  of  some  great  personage  who  said 

Si8 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  him  every  now  and  then :  "  Hold  your  tongue,  Gonzo;  you 
are  nothing  hut  a  fool.'"  This  verdict  was  always  the  outcome 
of  bad  temper,  for  Gonzo  almost  always  showed  more  wit 
than  the  great  person  in  question.  He  talked,  and  talked 
fairly  well,  about  everything,  and  further,  he  was  ready  to 
change  his  opinion  if  the  master  of  the  house  only  pulled 
a  wry  face.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  though  full  of  cunning  as  re- 
garded his  own  interests,  he  had  not  a  single  idea  in  his 
head,  and  if  the  prince  did  not  happen  to  have  a  cold,  he  was 
sometimes  very  much  puzzled  what  to  say  on  entering  a 
drawing-room. 

Gonzo  had  earned  himself  a  reputation  at  Parma  by 
means  of  a  splendid  three-cornered  hat,  adorned  with 
a  somewhat  dishevelled  plume,  which  he  wore  even  when  he 
was  in  morning  dress.  But  my  readers  should  have  seen  the 
fashion  in  which  he  carried  that  plume,  whether  upon  his 
head  or  in  his  hand — therein  lay  his  talent  and  his  impor- 
tance. He  would  inquire  with  real  anxiety  after  the  health 
of  the  marchesa's  little  dog,  and  if  the  Palazzo  Crescenzi  had 
caught  fire  he  would  have  risked  his  life  to  save  any  one  of 
those  splendid  arm-chairs  covered  with  gold  brocade,  on 
which  his  black  silk  knee-breeches  had  caught  for  so  many 
years  whenever  he  ventured  to  sit  himself  down  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

Every  evening  toward  seven  o'clock,  several  individuals 
of  this  type  made  their  appearance  in  the  marchesa's  draw- 
ing-room. Before  they  had  well  seated  themselves,  a  lackey 
— splendidly  attired  in  a  pale-yellow  livery,  covered,  as  was 
the  red  waistcoat  which  completed  its  magnificence,  with 
silver  embroidery — relieved  the  poor  gentlemen  of  their  hats 
and  canes.  Close  on  his  steps  came  a  servant,  carrying  very 
small  cups  of  coffee,  set  in  cases  of  silver  filigree,  and  every 
half-hour  a  steward,  wearing  a  sword  and  a  gorgeous  coat 
in  the  French  style,  handed  round  ices. 

Half  an  hour  after  the  arrival  of  the  threadbare  little 
courtiers,  came  five  or  six  officers  of  the  most  military  ap- 
pearance, who  talked  very  loud,  and  generally  discussed  the 
number  of  buttons  a  soldier  must  wear  on  his  coat  if  the 
general  commanding  him  was  to  win  battles.     It  would  not 

519 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

have  been  prudent  to  quote  a  French  newspaper  in  that 
drawing-room,  for  even  if  the  news  imparted  had  been 
pleasant — as,  for  instance,  that  fifty  Liberals  had  been  shot 
in  Spain — the  person  telling  the  story  would  still  have  stood 
convicted  of  having  perused  the  French  publication.  The 
acme  of  skill,  as  recognised  by  these  people,  consisted  in  get- 
ting their  pensions  increased,  once  in  ten  years,  by  the  sum  of 
a  hundred  and  fifty  francs.  In  this  fashion  does  the  prince 
share  the  delight  of  reigning  over  all  peasants,  and  over 
the  middle  classes,  with  his  nobles. 

The  chief  figure  in  the  Crescenzi  drawing-room  was, 
without  any  contradiction,  a  Cavaliere  Foscarini,  a  perfectly 
straightforward  gentleman,  who  had  consequently  been  in 
prison  more  or  less  under  every  regime.  He  had  been  a  mem- 
ber of  that  famous  Chamber  of  Deputies  at  Milan  which 
threw  out  Napoleon's  law  of  registration — a  very  uncommon 
occurrence  in  history.  The  Cavaliere  Foscarini,  who  had 
been  the  devoted  friend  of  the  marchese's  mother  for  twenty 
years,  had  retained  his  influence  in  the  family.  He  always 
had  some  entertaining  story  to  tell ;  but  nothing  escaped 
him,  and  the  young  marchesa,  who  felt  herself  guilty  at  the 
bottom  of  her  heart,  trembled  in  his  presence. 

As  Gonzo  was  possessed  by  a  real  passion  for  great  folks 
who  abused  him  and  made  him  weep  once  or  twice  a  year, 
he  had  a  mania  for  rendering  them  small  services.  And  but 
for  the  paralysis  caused  by  habits  engendered  by  excessive 
poverty,  he  might  occasionally  have  succeeded,  for  he  was 
not  devoid  of  a  certain  amount  of  cunning,  and  a  far  greater 
amount  of  effrontery. 

This  Gonzo,  even  as  we  know  him,  rather  despised  the 
Marchesa  Crescenzi,  for  she  had  never  said  an  uncivil  word 
to  him  in  his  life.  But,  after  all,  she  was  the  wife  of  that 
powerful  Marchese  Crescenzi,  lord  in  waiting  to  the  prin- 
cess, who  would  say  to  Gonzo  once  or  twice  a  month,  "  Hold 
your  tongue,  Gonzo,  you  are  nothing  but  a  fool." 

Gonzo  noticed  that  all  the  talk  about  little  Annetta  Marini 
roused  the  marchesa,  for  an  instant,  out  of  the  state  of  reverie 
and  indifference  in  which  she  usually  sat,  until  the  clock 
struck  eleven.    When  that  happened,  she  would  make  tea, 

520 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

and  offer  it  to  every  man  present,  addressing  him  by  name. 
After  which,  just  before  she  retired  to  her  own  rooms,  she 
would  seem  to  brighten  up  for  a  moment,  and  this  was  the 
time  always  chosen  by  her  guests  to  recite  satirical  sonnets 
to  her. 

Excellent  sonnets  of  this  kind  are  produced  in  Italy.  It 
is  the  only  form  of  literature  in  which  some  life  still  stirs. 
It  must  be  acknowledged  that  they  are  not  submitted  to  the 
censure,  and  the  courtiers  of  the  Casa  Crescenzi  always 
prefaced  their  sonnet  with  the  words,  "  Will  the  Signora  Mar- 
chesa  give  us  leave  to  recite  a  very  poor  sonnet  ?  "  Then, 
when  every  one  had  laughed  at  the  lines,  and  they  had  been 
repeated  two  or  three  times  over,  one  of  the  officers  was 
sure  to  exclaim,  "  The  Minister  of  Police  ought  really  to  see 
about  hanging  a  few  of  the  authors  of  these  vile  perform- 
ances." In  middle-class  society,  on  the  contrary,  the  sonnets 
were  received  with  the  frankest  admiration,  and  many  copies 
were  sold  by  the  lawyers'  clerks. 

The  curiosity  betrayed  by  the  marchesa  led  Gonzo  to 
augur  that  too  much  had  been  said  about  the  beauty  of  Si- 
gnorina  Marini,  who  owned  a  fortune  of  a  million  francs  to 
boot,  and  that  his  hostess  was  jealous.  As  Gonzo,  with  his 
never-failing  smile  and  his  utter  insolence  with  regard  to 
everything  that  was  not  nobly  born,  went  whithersoever  he 
would,  he  made  his  appearance,  the  very  next  day,  in  the 
marchesa's  drawing-room,  wearing  his  plumed  hat  with  a 
certain  triumphant  cock,  in  which  he  only  indulged  once 
or  twice  a  year,  when  the  prince  had  said  to  him  "  Addio, 
Gonzo." 

Having  respectfully  greeted  the  marchesa,  Gonzo  did  not 
retire,  as  was  his  custom,  to  the  chair  which  had  been  put 
forward  for  his  accommodation.  He  stood  himself  in  the 
middle  of  the  circle,  and  brusquely  exclaimed :  "  I  have  seen 
the  picture  of  Monsignore  del  Dongo."  Clelia  was  so  taken 
aback  that  she  was  obliged  to  support  herself  on  the  arms 
of  the  chair;  she  strove  to  make  head  against  the  storm, 
but  finally  she  was  obliged  to  leave  the  drawing-room. 

"  My  poor  dear  Gonzo,"  haughtily  exclaimed  one  of  the 
officers  who  was  just  finishing  his  fourth  ice,  "  you  certainly 

521 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

do  blunder  in  the  most  extraordinary  manner.  How  comes 
it  that  you  do  not  know  that  the  coadjutor,  who  was  one 
of  the  bravest  colonels  in  Napoleon's  army,  once  played  a 
vile  trick  on  the  marchesa's  father,  by  getting  out  of  the 
citadel  where  General  Conti  was  commanding,  just  as  he 
might  have  got  out  of  the  Steccata  (the  principal  church  in 
Parma)." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  captain,  I  am  ignorant  of  many  things, 
and  I  am  a  poor  idiot  who  makes  mistakes  all  day  long." 

This  reply,  which  was  quite  in  the  Italian  style,  raised  a 
laugh  at  the  gay  officer's  expense.  Soon  the  marchesa  came 
back;  she  had  armed  herself  with  courage,  and  was  not 
without  some  vague  hope  that  she  might  have  a  chance  of 
herself  admiring  Fabrizio's  portrait,  which  was  said  to  be 
excellent.  She  praised  the  talents  of  Hayez,  who  had  painted 
it.  All  unconsciously,  she  smiled  delightfully  at  Gonzo,  who 
looked  slyly  at  the  officer.  As  all  the  other  household  cour- 
tiers indulged  in  the  same  pleasure,  the  officer  departed,  but 
not  without  vowing  a  mortal  hatred  against  Gonzo.  Gonzo 
was  triumphant,  and  that  evening  when  he  took  his  leave 
he  was  invited  to  dinner  on  the  following  day. 

"  Here's  a  fresh  story,"  exclaimed  Gonzo  the  next  day, 
after  dinner,  when  the  servants  had  retired.  "  It  really  would 
seem  as  if  our  coadjutor  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  little 
Marini  girl."  The  tumult  in  Clelia's  heart,  on  hearing  so 
extraordinary  an  assertion,  may  be  conceived ;  the  marchese 
himself  was  disturbed. 

"  But,  Gonzo,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  talking  nonsense, 
as  you  generally  do.  And  you  really  should  speak  with  a 
little  more  respect  of  a  man  who  has  had  the  honour  of  play- 
ing whist  with  his  Highness  eleven  times  over." 

"  Very  good,  Signor  Marchese,"  said  Gonzo,  with  the 
coarseness  of  men  of  his  kidney.  "  I'll  dare  swear  he  would 
be  very  glad  to  play  with  the  little  Marini  too.  But  for  me  it 
is  enough  that  these  details  should  offend  you.  As  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  they  have  no  further  existence.  For,  above 
all  things,  I  desire  not  to  shock  my  dearest  marchese." 

The  marchese  always  retired  to  take  a  siesta  after  his  din- 
ner.   This  day  he  was  willing  to  go  without  it.     But  Gonzo 

522 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

would  rather  have  cut  out  his  tongue  than  have  said  another 
word  about  Annetta  Marini ;  and  every  moment  he  would 
begin  some  speech  calculated  to  rouse  the  marchese's  hopes 
of  hearing  him  revert  to  the  young  lady's  love-aflfairs. 
Gonzo  possessed,  in  the  highest  degree,  that  Italian  instinct 
which  delights  in  holding  back  the  longed-for  word.  The 
poor  marchese,  who  was  dying  of  curiosity,  was  reduced  to 
making  advances.  He  told  Gonzo  that  when  he  had  the 
pleasure  of  dining  in  his  company  he  always  ate  twice  as 
much  as  usual.  Gonzo  would  not  understand.  He  began 
to  give  an  account  of  a  splendid  gallery  of  pictures  collected 
by  the  Marchesa  Balbi,  the  late  prince's  mistress.  He  men- 
tioned Hayez  two  or  three  times,  lingering  over  his  name 
with  an  accent  of  the  deepest  admiration.  "  Good,"  said  the 
marchese  to  himself ;  "  now  he's  coming  to  little  Annetta's 
picture."  But  Gonzo  took  care  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Five  o'clock  struck  at  last,  to  the  great  vexation  of  the 
marchese,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  getting  into  his  car- 
riage at  half  past  five,  after  his  siesta,  and  driving  to  the 
Corso. 

"Just  like  you  and  your  stupidity,"  he  exclaimed  to 
Gonzo.  "  You  will  make  me,  the  princess's  lord  in  waiting, 
get  to  the  Corso  after  her,  and  she  may  have  orders  to  give 
me.  Come,  be  quick  about  it;  tell  me  shortly,  if  you  are 
capable  of  that,  all  about  these  pretended  love-aflfairs  of  the 
coadjutor's." 

But  Gonzo  intended  to  keep  that  story  for  the  marchesa, 
who  had  asked  him  to  dinner.  Very  curtly,  therefore,  he 
despatched  the  tale,  and  the  marchese,  half  asleep,  went  oflF 
to  take  his  siesta.  With  the  poor  marchesa  Gonzo  followed 
quite  a  diflferent  system.  So  youthful  and  so  simple  had  she 
remained,  in  spite  of  all  her  riches,  that  she  thought  herself 
obliged  to  atone  for  the  roughness  with  which  the  mar- 
chese had  just  spoken  to  Gonzo.  Delighted  with  his  suc- 
cess, the  little  man  recovered  all  his  eloquence,  and  made  it 
his  pleasure,  no  less  than  his  duty,  to  supply  her  with  end- 
less details. 

Little  Annetta  Marini  paid  as  much  as  a  sequin  for  every 
place  kept  for  her  at  the  sermons.    She  always  attended  them 

523 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

with  two  of  her  aunts,  and  her  father's  old  bookkeeper.  The 
seats,  which  she  had  kept  for  her  overnight,  were  generally 
opposite  the  pulpit,  rather  toward  the  high  altar,  for  she  had 
remarked  that  the  coadjutor  frequently  turned  toward  the 
high  altar.  Now,  what  the  public  had  also  remarked,  was 
that,  not  unfrequently,  the  young  preacher's  speaking  eyes 
rested  complacently  on  the  youthful  heiress,  in  her  piquant 
beauty,  and  apparently,  too,  with  some  attention.  For  once 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  her,  his  discourse  became  learned; 
it  bristled  with  quotations,  the  emotional  note  in  his  elo- 
quence disappeared,  and  the  ladies,  whose  interest  in  the 
sermon  instantly  disappeared  likewise,  began  to  look  at  An- 
netta,  and  speak  evil  of  her. 

Three  times  over  Clelia  made  him  repeat  these  extraor- 
dinary details.  At  the  end  of  the  third  time  she  grew  very 
thoughtful.  She  was  reckoning  up  that  it  was  just  fourteen 
months  since  she  had  seen  Fabrizio. 

"  Would  it  be  very  wrong,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  if  I 
spent  an  hour  in  a  church,  not  to  see  Fabrizio,  but  to  listen 
to  a  famous  preacher?  Besides,  I  would  sit  far  away  from 
the  pulpit,  and  I  would  only  look  at  Fabrizio  once  when  I 
came  in,  and  another  time  at  the  end  of  his  sermon.  .  .  . 
No,"  she  added,  "  it  is  not  to  see  Fabrizio  that  I  am  going, 
it  is  to  hear  this  extraordinary  preacher."  In  the  mixlst  of 
all  these  arguments  the  marchesa  was  pricked  with  remorse. 
She  had  behaved  so  well  for  fourteen  months !  "  Well,"  she 
thought  at  last,  to  pacify  herself  a  little,  "  if  the  first  woman 
who  comes  this  evening  has  been  to  hear  Monsignore  del 
Dongo  preach  I  will  go  too ;  if  she  has  not  been,  I  will  re- 
frain." 

Once  she  had  made  up  her  mind,  the  marchesa  filled 
Gonzo  with  delight  by  saying  to  him : 

"  Will  you  try  to  find  out  what  day  the  coadjutor  is  going 
to  preach,  and  in  what  church?  This  evening,  before  you 
leave,  I  may  perhaps  have  a  commission  for  you." 

Hardly  had  Gonzo  departed  for  the  Corso  than  Clelia 
went  out  into  the  palace  garden.  The  objection  that  she  had 
never  set  her  foot  in  it  for  ten  months  did  not  occur  to 
her.    She  was  eager  and  animated,  the  colour  had  come  back 

524 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

to  her  face.  That  evening,  as  each  tiresome  guest  entered 
her  drawing-room,  her  heart  throbbed  with  emotion.  Gonzo 
was  announced  at  last,  and  he  instantly  perceived  that  for  the 
next  week  he  was  destined  to  be  the  one  indispensable  per- 
son. "  The  marchesa  is  jealous  of  the  little  Marini  girl,  and 
on  my  soul,"  he  thought,  "  a  comedy  in  which  she  will  play 
the  leading  part,  with  little  Annetta  for  the  soubrette,  and 
Monsignore  del  Dongo  for  the  lover,  will  be  something 
worth  seeing.  Faith,  I'd  go  so  far  as  to  pay  two  francs  for 
my  place."  He  was  beside  himself  with  delight,  and  the 
whole  evening  he  kept  taking  the  words  out  of  everybody's 
mouth  and  telling  the  most  preposterous  tales  (as,  for  in- 
stance, that  of  the  Marquis  de  Pecquiny  and  the  famous 
actress,  which  he  had  heard  the  night  before  from  a  French 
traveller).  The  marchesa,  on  her  part,  could  not  sit  quiet; 
she  walked  about  the  drawing-room,  she  moved  into  the 
adjacent  gallery,  into  which  the  marchese  would  admit  no 
picture  which  had  not  cost  more  than  twenty  thousand 
francs.  That  evening  those  pictures  spoke  so  clearly  to  her 
that  they  made  her  heart  ache  with  emotion.  At  last  she 
heard  the  great  doors  thrown  open,  and  hurried  back  to  the 
drawing-room.  It  was  the  Marchesa  Raversi.  But  when 
Clelia  endeavoured  to  receive  her  with  the  usual  compli- 
ments, she  felt  her  voice  fail  her.  Twice  over  the  marchesa 
had  to  make  her  repeat  the  question,  "  What  do  you  think 
of  this  fashionable  preacher  ?  "  which  she  had  not  caught 
at  first. 

"  I  did  look  upon  him  as  a  little  schemer,  the  very  worthy 
nephew  of  the  illustrious  Countess  Mosca.  But  the  last 
time  he  preached,  look  you,  at  the  Church  of  the  Visitation, 
opposite  your  house,  he  was  so  sublime  that  all  my  hatred 
died  down,  and  I  consider  him  the  most  eloquent  man  I  have 
ever  heard  in  my  life." 

"  Then  you  have  attended  at  his  sermons  ?  "  said  Clelia, 
shaking  with  happiness. 

"  Why,  weren't  you  listening  to  me  ?  "  said  the  marchesa, 
laughing.  "  I  would  not  miss  them  for  anything  on  earth. 
They  say  his  lungs  are  affected,  and  that  soon  he  won't 
preach  any  more." 

525 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

The  moment  the  marchesa  had  departed  Clelia  beckoned 
Gonzo  into  the  gallery. 

"  I  have  almost  made  up  my  mind,"  she  said,  "  to  hear 
this  much-admired  preacher.    When  will  he  preach  ?  " 

"  On  Monday  next — that  is,  three  days  hence ;  and  one 
might  almost  fancy  he  had  guessed  your  Excellency's  plan, 
for  he  is  coming  to  preach  in  the  Church  of  the  Visita- 
tion." 

Further  explanation  was  indispensable.  But  Clelia's 
voice  had  quite  failed  her.  She  walked  up  and  down  the 
gallery  five  or  six  times  without  uttering  a  word.  Mean- 
while Gonzo  was  saying  to  himself :  "  Now  revenge  is  work- 
ing in  her  soul.  How  can  any  man  have  the  insolence  to 
escape  out  of  prison,  especially  when  he  has  the  honour  of 
being  kept  under  watch  and  ward  by  such  a  hero  as  General 
Fabio  Conti !  " 

"  And,  indeed,"  he  added,  with  skilful  irony,  "  there  is 
no  time  to  be  lost.  His  lungs  are  affected;  I  heard  Dr. 
Rambo  say  he  would  not  live  a  year.  God  is  punishing  him 
for  having  broken  his  arrest  ...  by  his  treacherous  escape 
from  the  citadel." 

The  marchesa  seated  herself  on  the  couch  in  the  gallery, 
and  signed  to  Gonzo  to  follow  her  example.  After  a  few 
moments  she  gave  him  a  little  purse,  into  which  she  had 
put  a  few  sequins.     "  Have  four  places  kept  for  me." 

"  Might  your  poor  Gonzo  be  permitted  to  follow  in  your 
Excellency's  train  ?  " 

"  Of  course ;  tell  them  to  keep  five  places.  ...  I  do  not 
at  all  care,"  she  said,  "  to  be  near  the  pulpit,  but  I  should  like 
to  see  the  Signorina  Marini,  whom  every  one  tells  me  is  so 
pretty." 

During  the  three  days  that  were  still  to  elapse  before  the 
Monday  on  which  the  sermon  was  to  be  preached,  the  mar- 
chesa was  in  an  agony.  Gonzo,  who  felt  it  the  most  exces- 
sive honour  to  be  seen  in  public  in  the  following  of  so  great 
a  lady,  had  put  on  his  French  coat  and  his  sword.  Nor  was 
this  all.  Taking  advantage  of  the  close  neighbourhood  of 
the  palace,  he  had  a  magnificent  gilt  arm-chair  carried  into 
the  church  for  the  marchesa's  use — a  proceeding  which  was 

526 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

looked  on  as  a  piece  of  the  greatest  insolence  by  the  middle- 
class  portion  of  the  audience.  The  feelings  of  the  poor  mar- 
chesa,  when  she  beheld  this  arm-chair,  which  had  been  set 
immediately  opposite  the  pulpit,  may  easily  be  imagined. 
Shrinking,  with  downcast  eyes,  into  the  corner  of  the  huge 
chair,  Clelia,  in  her  confusion,  had  not  even  courage  to  look 
at  Annetta  Marini,  whom  Gonzo  pointed  out  to  her  with  a 
coolness  which  perfectly  astounded  her.  In  the  eyes  of  the 
true  courtier,  people  who  are  not  of  noble  birth  have  no  ex- 
istence at  all. 

Fabrizio  appeared  in  the  pulpit.  So  pale  and  thin  was 
he,  so  devoured  with  grief,  that  the  tears  instantly  welled  up 
in  Clelia's  eyes.  Fabrizio  spoke  a  few  words,  and  then 
stopped  short,  as  if  his  voice  had  suddenly  failed  him.  Vainly 
he  strove  to  bring  out  one  or  two  sentences.  At  last  he 
turned  and  took  up  a  written  sheet. 

"  My  brethren,"  said  he,  "  a  most  unhappy  being,  and 
very  deserving  of  all  your  pity,  beseeches  you,  through  me, 
to  pray  for  the  conclusion  of  his  torture,  which  can  only 
end  with  his  own  life." 

Fabrizio  read  the  rest  of  the  document  very  slowly,  but 
so  expressive  was  his  voice  that,  before  he  reached  the  mid- 
dle of  the  prayer,  everybody,  even  Gonzo  himself,  was  in 
tears.  "  At  least  nobody  will  notice  me,"  said  the  marchesa 
to  herself,  as  she  wept. 

While  Fabrizio  was  reading  this  written  paper,  two  or 
three  ideas  concerning  the  condition  of  the  unhappy  man  on 
whose  behalf  he  had  just  asked  for  the  prayers  of  the  faith- 
ful, occurred  to  him.  Thoughts  soon  came  crowding  on 
him  thickly.  Though  he  seemed  to  be  addressing  the  pub- 
lic at  large,  it  was  to  the  marchesa  that  he  really  spoke.  He 
brought  his  sermon  to  a  close  a  little  earlier  than  usual,  be- 
cause, in  spite  of  all  his  eflforts,  his  own  tears  came  so  fast  that 
he  could  no  longer  speak  intelligibly.  The  best  judges  con- 
sidered the  sermon  a  strange  one,  but  equal,  at  all  events, 
in  its  pathetic  qualities,  to  the  famous  discourse  preached 
among  the  lighted  tapers.  As  for  Clelia,  before  she  had 
heard  the  first  ten  lines  of  Fabrizio's  prayer,  she  felt  it  was 
an  atrocious  crime  to  have  been  able  to  spend  fourteen 

527 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

months  without  seeing  him.  When  she  went  home  she  re- 
tired to  bed,  so  that  she  might  be  able  to  think  about  Fabrizio 
in  peace ;  and  the  next  morning,  tolerably  early,  Fabrizio  re- 
ceived a  note  in  the  following  terms : 

"  The  writer  depends  on  your  honour.  Find  four 
*  bravos '  on  whose  discretion  you  can  rely,  and  to-morrow, 
when  midnight  strikes  at  the  Steccata,  be  close  to  a  little 
door  marked  No.  19,  in  the  Street  of  St.  Paul.  Remember 
that  you  may  be  attacked,  and  do  not  come  alone." 

When  Fabrizio  recognised  that  adored  handwriting  he 
fell  on  his  knees  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  At  last,"  he  cried,  "  at  last,  after  fourteen  months  and 
eight  days !    Farewell  to  preaching !  " 

The  description  of  all  the  wild  feelings  which  raged  that 
day  in  Fabrizio's  heart  and  Clelia's  would  be  a  long  one. 
The  little  door  mentioned  in  the  note  was  no  other  than  that 
of  the  orangery  of  the  Palazzo  Crescenzi,  and  a  dozen  times 
that  day  Fabrizio  found  means  to  look  at  it.  A  little  before 
midnight  he  armed  himself,  and  was  walking  quickly,  and 
alone,  past  the  door,  when  to  his  inexpressible  joy  he  heard 
a  well-known  voice  say  very  low : 

"  Come  in  hither,  beloved  of  my  heart."  Very  cautiously 
Fabrizio  entered,  and  found  himself  within  the  orangery, 
indeed,  but  opposite  a  window  strongly  grated,  and  raised 
some  three  or  four  feet  above  the  ground.  It  was  exceed- 
ingly dark.  Fabrizio  had  heard  some  noise  in  the  win- 
dow, and  was  feeling  over  the  grating  with  his  hand,  when 
he  felt  another  hand  slipped  through  the  bars,  that  took 
hold  of  his,  and  carried  it  to  lips  which  pressed  a  kiss 
upon  it. 

"  It  is  I,"  said  a  beloved  voice,  "  who  have  come  here 
to  tell  you  that  I  love  you,  and  to  ask  you  if  you  will 
obey  me." 

My  readers  will  imagine  Fabrizio's  answer,  his  joy,  his 
astonishment.  When  the  first  transports  had  subsided, 
Qelia  said :  "  I  have  vowed  to  the  Madonna,  as  you  know, 
that  I  will  never  see  you.  That  is  why  I  receive  you  now  in 
the  dark.  I  am  very  anxious  you  should  know  that  if  you 
ever  oblige  me  to  look  at  you  in  daylight  everything  will  be 

528 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

over  between  us.  But  to  begin  with,  I  will  not  have  you 
preach  before  Annetta  Marini ;  and  do  not  think  it  was  I  who 
committed  the  folly  of  having  an  arm-chair  carried  into  the 
house  of  God." 

"  My  dearest  angel !  I  shall  never  preach  again  before 
anybody.  The  only  reason  I  preached  was  my  hope  that 
by  so  doing  I  might  some  day  see  you." 

"  You  must  not  speak  to  me  like  that !  Remember  that  I 
am  forbidden  to  see  you." 

At  this  point  I  will  ask  my  readers'  permission  to  pass  in 
silence  over  a  period  of  three  years.  When  our  story  begins 
afresh.  Count  Mosca  has  long  been  back  at  Parma  as  Prime 
Minister,  with  greater  power  than  ever. 

After  these  three  years  of  exquisite  happiness,  a  whim  of 
Fabrizio's  heart  altered  everything.  The  marchesa  had  a 
beautiful  little  boy  two  years  old,  Sandrino.  He  was  al- 
ways with  her,  or  on  the  marchese's  knee.  But  Fabrizio 
hardly  ever  saw  him.  He  did  not  choose  that  the  boy  should 
grow  into  the  habit  of  loving  another  father,  and  conceived 
the  idea  of  carrying  off  the  child  before  his  memories  were 
very  distinct. 

During  the  long  daylight  hours,  when  the  marchesa 
might  not  see  her  lover,  Sandrino's  presence  was  her  conso- 
lation. For  we  must  here  confess  a  fact  which  will  seem 
strange  to  dwellers  on  the  northern  side  of  the  Alps.  In 
spite  of  her  failings,  she  had  remained  faithful  to  her  vow. 
She  had  promised  the  Madonna  that  she  would  never  see 
Fabrizio;  those  had  been  her  exact  words.  Consequently 
she  had  never  received  him  except  at  night,  and  there  was 
never  any  light  in  her  chamber. 

But  every  evening  Fabrizio  visited  his  mistress,  and  it 
was  a  very  admirable  thing  that,  in  the  midst  of  a  court  which 
was  eaten  up  by  curiosity  and  boredom,  his  precautions  had 
been  so  skilfully  taken  that  this  amicizia,  as  people  call  it  in 
Lombardy,  had  never  even  been  suspected.  Their  love  was 
too  intense  not  to  be  disturbed  by  occasional  quarrels. 
Clelia  was  very  subject  to  jealousy.  But  their  disagreements 
almost  always  arose  from  a  diflFerent  cause — Fabrizio  having 

529 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

taken  unfair  advantage  of  some  public  ceremony  to  intro- 
duce himself  near  the  marchesa  and  look  at  her ;  she  would 
then  seize  some  pretext  for  instant  departure,  and  would 
banish  her  friend  for  many  days. 

Residents  at  the  court  of  Parma  were  astonished  at  never 
being  able  to  discover  any  intrigue  on  the  part  of  a  woman 
so  remarkable  for  beauty  and  intelligence.  She  inspired  sev- 
eral passions  which  led  to  many  mad  actions,  and  very  often 
Fabrizio,  too,  was  jealous. 

The  good  Archbishop  Landriani  had  long  been  dead. 
Fabrizio's  piety,  his  eloquence,  and  his  exemplary  life,  had 
wiped  out  his  predecessor's  memory.  His  elder  brother 
was  dead,  and  all  the  family  wealth  had  devolved  on  him. 
From  that  time  forward  he  divided  the  hundred  and  odd 
thousand  francs  which  formed  the  income  of  the  arch- 
bishopric of  Parma  between  the  priests  and  curates  of  his 
diocese. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  to  conceive  a  more  honoured, 
a  more  honourable  and  useful  existence,  than  that  Fabrizio 
had  built  up  for  himself  when  this  unlucky  fancy  of  his  came 
to  disturb  it  all. 

"  According  to  your  vow,  which  I  respect,  and  which, 
nevertheless,  makes  my  life  miserable,  since  you  will  not  see 
me  in  daylight,"  said  he  one  day  to  Clelia,  "  I  am  forced 
to  live  perpetually  alone,  with  no  relaxation  of  any  kind  ex- 
cept my  work,  and  even  my  work  fails  me  sometimes.  In 
the  midst  of  this  stern  and  dreary  manner  of  spending  the 
long  hours  of  each  day,  an  idea  had  come  into  my  head, 
which  torments  me  incessantly,  and  against  which  I  have 
struggled  in  vain  for  the  last  six  months.  My  son  will  never 
love  me ;  he  never  hears  my  name.  Brought  up,  as  he  is,  in 
all  the  pleasing  luxury  of  the  Palazzo  Crescenzi,  he  hardly 
even  knows  me  by  sight.  On  the  rare  occasions  when  I  do 
see  him,  I  think  of  his  mother,  for  he  reminds  me  of  her 
heavenly  beauty,  at  which  I  am  not  allowed  to  look,  and  he 
must  think  my  face  solemn,  which,  to  a  child's  eyes,  means 
gloomy." 

"  Well,"  said  the  marchesa,  "  whither  does  all  this  alarm- 
ing talk  of  yours  tend  ?  " 

530 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

"  To  this :  I  want  my  son  back.  I  want  him  to  live  with 
me.  I  want  to  see  him  every  day.  I  want  him  to  learn 
to  love  me.  I  want  to  love  him  myself,  at  my  ease.  Since  a 
fate  such  as  never  overtook  any  other  man  has  deprived  me 
of  the  happiness  which  so  many  loving  souls  enjoy — since  I 
must  not  spend  my  whole  life  with  all  I  worship — I  desire, 
at  all  events,  to  have  one  being  with  me  who  shall  remind 
my  heart  of  you,  and,  in  a  certain  sense,  replace  you.  In 
my  enforced  solitude,  business  and  men  alike  weary  me. 
You  know  that  ever  since  the  moment  when  I  had  the  happi- 
ness of  being  locked  up  by  Barbone,  ambition  has  been  to 
me  an  empty  word,  and  in  the  melancholy  that  overwhelms 
me  when  I  am  far  from  you,  everything  which  is  unconnected 
with  the  deep  feelings  of  my  heart  seems  preposterous 
to  me." 

My  readers  will  realize  the  lively  sorrow  with  which  the 
thought  of  her  lover's  suffering  filled  poor  Clelia's  soul. 
And  her  grief  was  all  the  deeper  because  she  felt  there  was 
a  certain  reason  in  what  Fabrizio  said.  She  even  went 
so  far  as  to  debate  with  herself  whether  she  ought  not  to 
seek  release  from  her  vow:  then  she  could  have  seen  Fa- 
brizio in  the  light,  like  any  other  member  of  society,  and  her 
reputation  was  too  well  established  for  any  one  to  have  found 
fault  with  her  for  doing  so.  She  told  herself  that  by  dint 
of  spending  a  great  deal  of  money  she  might  obtain  release 
from  her  vow,  but  she  felt  that  this  thoroughly  worldly 
arrangement  would  not  ease  her  own  conscience,  and  feared 
that  Heaven,  in  its  anger,  might  punish  her  for  this  fresh 
crime. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  she  consented  to  grant  Fabrizio's 
very  natural  desire,  if  she  endeavoured  to  avoid  fresh  misery 
for  the  tender-hearted  being  whom  she  knew  so  well,  and 
whose  peace  was  already  so  strangely  imperilled  by  her  own 
peculiar  vow,  what  chance  was  there  of  carrying  oflf  the  only 
son  of  one  of  the  greatest  gentlemen  in  Italy  without  the 
fraud  being  discovered?  The  Marchese  Crescenzi  would 
lavish  huge  sums  of  money,  would  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  searchers,  and  sooner  or  later,  the  abduction  would 
be  known.    There  was  only  one  means  of  avoiding  this  dan- 

531 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

ger — ^to  send  the  child  far  away,  to  Edinburgh,  for  instance, 
or  to  Paris.  But  this  alternative  her  mother's  heart  could 
not  face.  The  other  method,  which  Fabrizio  suggested,  and 
which  was  indeed  the  most  reasonable,  had  something 
threatening  about  it,  which  made  it  almost  still  more  dreadful 
in  the  agonized  mother's  eyes.  There  must  be  a  feigned 
sickness,  Fabrizio  declared ;  the  child  must  grow  worse  and 
worse,  and  must  die,  at  last,  while  the  Marchese  Crescenzi 
was  away  from  home. 

Clelia's  repugnance  to  this  plan,  which  amounted  to 
absolute  terror,  caused  a  rupture  which  could  not  last 
long. 

Clelia  declared  that  they  must  not  tempt  God ;  that  this 
dearly  loved  child  was  the  fruit  of  a  sin,  and  that  if  anything 
more  was  done  to  stir  the  divine  wrath,  God  would  surely 
take  the  child  back  to  himself.  Fabrizio  recurred  to  the 
subject  of  his  own  peculiar  fate.  "  The  state  of  life  to  which 
chance  has  brought  me,  and  my  love  for  you,  force  me  to 
live  in  perpetual  solitude.  I  can  not  enjoy  the  sweetness  of 
an  intimate  companionship,  like  most  of  my  fellow  men,  be- 
cause you  will  never  receive  me  except  in  the  dark,  and  thus 
the  portion  of  my  life  I  can  spend  with  you  is  reduced,  so  to 
speak,  to  minutes." 

Many  tears  were  shed,  and  Clelia  fell  ill.  But  she  loved 
Fabrizio  too  dearly  to  refuse  to  make  the  frightful  sacrifice 
he  asked  of  her.  To  all  appearances  Sandrino  fell  sick.  The 
marchese  hastened  to  send  for  the  most  famous  doctors,  and 
Clelia  found  herself  confronted  by  a  terrible  difficulty  which 
she  had  not  foreseen.  She  had  to  prevent  this  idolized  child 
from  taking  any  of  the  remedies  prescribed  by  the  phy- 
sicians, and  that  was  no  easy  matter. 

The  child,  kept  in  bed  more  than  was  good  for  his 
health,  fell  really  ill.  How  was  she  to  tell  the  doctor  the 
real  cause  of  the  trouble  ?  Torn  asunder  by  these  conflicting 
interests,  both  so  near  her  heart,  Clelia  very  nearly  lost  her 
redson.  Fabrizio,  on  his  side,  could  neither  forgive  himself 
the  violence  he  was  doing  to  the  feelings  of  his  mistress,  nor 
relinquish  his  plan.  He  had  found  means  of  nightly  access 
to  the  sick  child's  room,  and  this  brought  about  another  com- 

532 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

plication.  The  marchesa  was  nursing  her  son,  and  some- 
times Fabrizio  could  not  help  seeing  her  by  the  light  of  the 
tapers.  This,  to  Clelia's  poor  sick  heart,  seemed  a  horrible 
wickedness,  and  an  augury  of  Sandrino's  death.  In  vain  had 
the  most  famous  casuists,  when  consulted  as  to  the  necessity 
of  keeping  a  vow  in  cases  where  such  obedience  would  evi- 
dently do  harm,  replied  that  no  breaking  of  a  vow  could 
be  considered  criminal,  so  long  as  the  person  bound  by  a 
promise  toward  God  failed,  not  for  the  sake  of  mere  fleshly 
pleasure,  but  so  as  not  to  cause  some  evident  harm.  The 
marchesa's  despair  did  not  diminish,  and  Fabrizio  saw  that 
his  strange  fancy  would  soon  bring  about  both  Clelia's  death 
and  her  child's. 

He  appealed  to  his  intimate  friend,  Count  Mosca,  who, 
hardened  old  minister  as  he  was,  was  touched  by  this  love 
story,  of  the  greater  part  of  which  he  had  been  quite  un- 
aware. 

"  I  will  have  the  marchese  sent  away  for  live  or  six  days 
at  least.    When  shall  it  be  ?  " 

Within  a  short  time  Fabrizio  came  to  the  count  with  the 
news  that  everything  was  prepared  to  take  advantage  of  the 
marchese's  absence. 

Two  days  later,  while  the  marchese  was  riding  home 
from  one  of  his  properties  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Mantua, 
a  band  of  ruffians,  who  appeared  to  be  in  the  pay  of  a  private 
individual,  carried  him  off,  without  ill-treating  him  in  any 
way,  and  put  him  into  a  boat  which  took  three  days  to  drop 
down  the  river  Po — exactly  the  same  journey  Fabrizio  had 
performed  after  his  terrible  business  with  Giletti.  On  the 
fourth  day  the  ruffians  landed  the  marchese  on  a  lonely 
island  in  the  river,  having  previously  and  carefully  emptied 
his  pockets,  without  leaving  him  any  money  or  valuable  of 
any  kind.  It  was  two  whole  days  before  the  marchese  could 
get  back  to  his  palace  at  Parma.  When  he  arrived  he 
found  it  all  hung  with  black,  and  the  whole  household  in  the 
deepest  grief. 

The  result  of  this  abduction,  skilfully  as  it  had  been  car- 
ried out,  was  melancholy  in  the  extreme.  Sandrino,  who  had 
been  secretly  removed  to  a  large  and  handsome  house  in 

533 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

which  the  marchesa  came  to  see  him  almost  every  day,  was 
dead  before  many  months  were  out.  Clelia  fancied  that  a 
just  punishment  had  come  upon  her,  because  she  had  been 
faithless  to  her  vow  to  the  Madonna — she  had  so  often  seen 
Fabrizio  by  candlelight,  and  twice  even  in  broad  daylight, 
and  with  the  most  passionate  tenderness,  during  Sandrino's 
illness!  She  only  survived  her  much-loved  child  a  few 
months.  But  she  had  the  comfort  of  dying  in  her  lover's 
arms. 

Fabrizio  was  too  desperately  in  love,  and  too  faithful  a 
believer,  to  have  recourse  to  suicide.  He  hoped  to  meet 
Clelia  again  in  a  better  world,  but  he  was  too  intelligent 
not  to  feel  that  there  was  much  for  which  he  must  first 
atone. 

A  few  days  after  Clelia's  death  he  signed  several  deeds, 
whereby  he  insured  a  pension  of  a  thousand  francs  a  year  to 
each  of  his  servants,  and  reserved  a  like  income  for  himself. 
He  made  over  lands,  bringing  in  almost  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year,  to  the  Countess  Mosca,  a  like  sum  to  the  Mar- 
chesa del  Dongo,  his  mother,  and  the  residue  of  his  patri- 
mony to  one  of  his  sisters,  who  had  made  a  poor  marriage. 
The  next  day,  having  sent  his  resignation  of  his  archbish- 
opric, and  of  all  the  posts  which  had  been  showered  upon  him 
by  the  favour  of  Ernest  V  and  the  affection  of  his  Prime  Min- 
ister, to  the  proper  quarter,  he  retired  to  the  Chartreuse  de 
Parme,  which  stands  in  the  woods,  close  to  the  river  Po,  two 
leagues  from  Sacca. 

The  Countess  Mosca  had  fully  approved  her  husband's 
reassumption  of  the  ministry,  when  that  had  taken  place,  but 
nothing  would  ever  induce  her  to  set  her  foot  within  Ernest 
V's  dominions ;  and  she  held  her  court  at  Vigtiano,  a  quarter 
of  a  league  from  Casal  Maggiore,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Po, 
and  consequently  within  Austrian  territory.  In  the  mag- 
nificent palace  which  the  count  had  built  her  at  Vignano,  she 
received  the  elite  of  Parmese  society  every  Thursday,  and 
saw  her  numerous  friends  on  every  other  day.  Fabrizio 
would  never  let  a  day  pass  without  going  to  Vignano.  In  a 
word,  the  countess  apparently  possessed  every  ingredient  of 
happiness.    But  she  only  lived  a  very  short  time  longer  than 

534 


The  Chartreuse  of  Parma 

Fabrizio,  whom  she  adored,  and  who  spent  only  one  year  in 
his  chartreuse. 

The  prisons  of  Parma  stood  empty.  The  count  was  im- 
mensely rich,  and  Ernest  V  was  worshipped  by  his  subjects, 
who  compared  his  government  with  that  of  the  Grand  Dukes 
of  Tuscany. 


TO  THE  HAPPY  FEWl 

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